


The Serpent and The Prince

by ladydragona



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, Guaranteed happy ending, Light Angst, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rating and tags subject to change, Slow Burn, inhuman!crowley, listen im writing this for me, well some of them are human, yall can read it if you want to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona
Summary: The kingdom of Gehenna is full of beastmen, monsters, Demons. At least, that's what centuries of rumor and hostility would lead everyone to believe. Unfortunately for Prince Aziraphale of Elysium an arranged marriage to one of those Demons is the only way peace and trade might happen between their lands. Being married to a literal monster is a hard fate to have thrust upon him but not all monsters are cruel and the prince might find himself falling in love despite prejudice and fear.





	1. A Prince Betrothed

**Author's Note:**

> Like It says in the tags, I'm writing this for me. This fic is just something VERY self indulgent while I struggle with By the Light of My Stars (which I'm not abandoning btw). I don't plan on having a set update schedule, chapters will be posted when I get to 'em.
> 
> I've been wanting to write a fic like this for many years across many pairings and fandoms, but Aziraphale and Crowley fit so damn well I'm finally putting it down somewhere tangible. And before anyone asks: Crowley isn't just a generic 'monster' i have PLANS, but I'm keeping things secret till it's revealed and I'll update the tags once that bit happens. Ya'll are welcome to guess though.

Aziraphale should have know. He really should have. He doesn’t know what he would have done with the knowledge, but at least he wouldn’t have felt like such a fool when they caught him off guard. Perhaps he could have come up with a better response than “Ex_cuse _me!?” and dribbling wine across the front of his doublet.

Gabriel, his brother, The King, gives him a reproachful look while their other siblings try to pretend the conversation that is happening isn’t actually happening. Well, Michael and Uriel pretend the conversation isn’t happening. Sandalphon, however, is grinning like a cat that just caught a canary.

“Really, Aziraphale? I know you heard me perfectly clear. The King of Gehenna has offered a marriage alliance to help facilitate the trade agreements. You have, of course, been chosen for this honor.”

“Yes but,” Aziraphale starts dabbing at the wine, glad it was a white and won’t stain nearly as noticeably as a red would on his white clothes. “why _me_? There has to be someone else.”

There is no one else. He knows this. Michael has sworn a vow of chastity and it would dishonor her to expect her to be chosen. Sandalphon has been married for a decade. Uriel is already engaged to a powerful lord, breaking that might shatter the delicate political balance. It can’t be Gabriel, multiple foreign allies have been courting his hand since birth. They might have insisted on choosing the son or daughter of a powerful lord, but it’s very possible such a thing would be seen as a slight to the other kingdom. No, Aziraphale was the only one available with enough status. When marriage was first brought up in the letters from Gehenna, Aziraphale had just wondered who the poor sod would be, now the answer is all too obvious.

Gabriel stares at him, hard, before responding. “You know as well as I that there is no one else. You’ve been insistent on being more involved in the kingdoms affairs. You claim you want to be given a task to help our people. Here is your task: You will marry and you will facilitate the alliance between our kingdom and the Kingdom of Gehenna. Your betrothed should be here in four weeks, I suggest you get use to the idea.”

The silence that follows is stifling.

Aziraphale stares at his plate, still mostly full of food he hasn’t touched. Normally he would eat multiple helpings of everything plus dessert besides. Now, the sick feeling in his gut makes even his favorite dishes unappetizing.

Aziraphale swallows past the large lump in his throat. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty.” He stands politely and walks, as dignified as he can, out of the dinning hall. All his siblings eyes are on him, he can not show even a moment of weakness.

As soon as the door to the hall closes behind him, Prince Aziraphale bolts to his chambers, uncaring if any of the palace staff see him. The staff will talk, of course, but as long as none of his family see his pain it doesn’t matter. What is one more stick on the fire of rumor and speculation that he has long since been the subject of?

He sags against the door of his rooms as soon as it is safely closed behind him. His rooms are his sanctuary, his safe space, the only place in the entire palace Aziraphale feels truly at home. The sitting room is more a library than anything. The majority of the space covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves piled high with tomes of all kinds. As the youngest and least of the royal family, Aziraphale has never been expected to entertain guests, but he did manage to squeeze in a few tan and cream lounges and couches for his own comfort. The bedroom is a third the size of the sitting room, but Aziraphale only uses it when he is very exhausted or needs to change clothes, he’s always had trouble sleeping. The bathroom off the bedroom is smaller still, but holds a tub large enough for Aziraphale to completely submerge himself and all the soaps and perfumes a pampered prince could ever ask for.

Aziraphale breathes in deep the smell of old books and ink and dust that permeate his chambers. It’s a comforting smell and one that would normally ease any anxieties he might have.

Not tonight.

The thing is, it’s not that Aziraphale is opposed to the idea of a marriage being arranged for him. On the contrary, he’d been expecting it since he was a child. Royalty do not marry for love or because they want to, not even the youngest and politically insignificant like himself. No, marriages are done for alliances and deals and trades. He wasn’t even surprised that he had no say in the marriage.

What was so upsetting was who he was marrying. The Kingdom of Elysium and the Kingdom of Gehenna had been enemies for centuries. They’d warred for hundreds of years, neither side ever truly gaining the upper-hand, before eventually the intense animosity had cooled to a general disdain of each other. The hatred and war had all started because of the kind of… individuals… who lived in Gehenna: Beast-men, Monsters, Demons. They weren’t human, they weren’t people. Being married to one of then would be no better than marrying a wild animal.

Aziraphale covers his mouth with his hand and the sick feeling in his gut increases at the thought of being married to a citizen of Gehenna. He’d never been there. Never even seen one of them, but he has read books. Books that tell stories of half animal half man creatures, of fangs and claws and horns, of skin covered in scales and pustules and boils. Tales of them using magic to ensnare and bewitch travelers. Stories of how they kidnap and mutilate unsuspecting humans for fun before eating them.

The young prince rushes to his bathroom, knocking over piles of books in the process, where he looses what little dinner he’d been able to eat.

It’s a sick, cruel fate his brother has thrust upon him, but of course it had to be him. When the first correspondence from Gehenna had reached them earlier this year, everyone thought it would be a resuming of the old war. No one had expected a request for decreased hostility and trade.

The king had dismissed them at first. “What could they possibly have that we want?”

Aziraphale still didn’t know what the answer to that question was, but it must have been something good to offer up his own brother, or at least Aziraphale hoped that was the case. Aziraphale and his siblings had never been close, separated by too many years and lack of common interests, but he never thought the rumors that followed him since birth would be enough to have them do something so cruel.

It was well known that their mother, the late Queen, had held no love for their father. So well known, in fact, that when her last pregnancy was announced it was a shock to everyone when King Solomon made not a single move to denounce the babe. It didn’t stop servants, commoners, nobility and even his own brothers and sisters from speculating about the young Aziraphale’s ‘true’ parentage. The king had treated Aziraphale no differently than the others and no one had stepped forward to claim the prince as theirs, but it would seem his own brothers and sisters were not convinced.

Aziraphale spends the next few weeks leaving his rooms as little as possible, barely picking at his food, sleeping more then he ever had before, and doing his best to avoid his family. That last one is a lot easier than expected for it would seem none of them want to see him either. Gabriel busies himself with kingdom running, and as the Chief General of the army, Sandalphon is equally as scarce. Uriel spends the following weeks visiting the family of her betrothed in the countryside. Michael is the only one Aziraphale sees. As Captain of the Royal Guard, it is her sworn duty to protect them, so she isn’t entirely unavoidable, but the only glimpses he gets of his oldest sister revolve around her giving him pitying glances and then hurrying along. It’s not comforting in the least and only serve to further convince him that they see him as an outsider they will soon not have to concern themselves with.

By the time his four weeks are just about up Aziraphale has had plenty of time to think and rationalize and over think this entire ordeal and the process went a little something like this: Gehenna had reached out to them despite generations of hostility, so it would not be remiss to assume they needed or wanted something. What exactly could they want? Both kingdoms boarders had been firmly closed to one another for well over five centuries so the state of their economy and resources was a mystery. And Aziraphale was certain they _had _an economy. Gehenna was a fully fledged kingdom with a standing army who needed to by payed and fed, they had to have some kind of structure even if they were monsters. It was possible they wanted food. As far as he was aware, Gehenna was a mountainous rocky place, not suited to growing grain or raising livestock and the people of Elysium had never wanted for food. Textiles was another trade option. Elysium had a booming textile industry, specifically silk.

He knew he could just go ask Gabriel and he could probably convince him to tell him, citing needing to know the situation they were forcing him into for why he was asking, but mulling it over this way gave his mind something to focus on that wasn’t the impending marriage. And anytime his thoughts would begin to meander in the direction of matrimony he would quickly reign them back in towards safer topics, such as taxes, industry, and economy. Those topics were dull, but at least they didn’t make his stomach twist into sick knots.

On ‘The Day’, which is how Aziraphale had been referring to it in his head, the entire palace was bustling with staff rushing back and forth across the halls to ensure everything was prepared and checked and double checked. Aziraphale had been supplied with a brand new outfit and instructed by an attendant that ‘the king insists’. The clothes were all creams and blues with silver embroidery across the back.

Aziraphale took his time getting dressed. It didn’t help that his nerves were shot and his hands shook so bad it took three times as long as usual to button his clothes. In fact, he took so long that one of the palace staff had been sent to collect him.

When he finally descended the stairs into the receiving hall Gabriel was already there waiting for him, tapping his foot impatiently. “There you are! Well hurry up, they will be here any minute.” Gabriel grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him through the doors and into the front courtyard.

Staff and attendants were already at their stations and the gates to the stables had been opened prematurely.

Aziraphale fiddled with his sleeve for a moment, but suddenly becoming very bold. “Er… Your Majesty, Gabriel, you see… I’ve been wondering, who, exactly, are they er… sending?”

The king barely spared him a glance. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No…. I’m fairly confident I would have remembered if you did...”

Gabriel frowned in thought. “Mmm… Ah! Yes! I remember. You made a fool of yourself at diner and ran out before I could be given a chance.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel continued. “No matter. You’ll find out soon enough, here they come.”

Aziraphale’s head shot up and indeed four monstrous sized black steeds pulling a black and gold carriage were thundering up the road towards the gates.

Aziraphale clutched his hands in the cloth of his cream trousers and had never been more terrified in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fancy line-break is my art! Do not use without permission!
> 
> You can find me at theladydrgn on tumblr


	2. The Serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't expect to get this chapter done so fast but I hit a block with the other fic and didn't want to write NOTHING.
> 
> As always I have no beta reader so mistakes are bound to happen!

Aziraphale was fighting back the urge to throw up. The sight of the elegant black and gold carriage surrounded by a small retinue of foreign soldiers was a stark reminder to the prince that this wasn’t just some meeting to decide on trade. He’d been firmly suppressing that fact that he was supposed to marry some demon monster of Gehenna, but his time in denial was coming to a quick and stomach churning end.

He was trying his absolute best to not sick up right here in front of everyone, but soldiers all outfitted in bold reds, golds, and black and with armored helmets all shaped like various monsters with horns and tucks and spikes was only making it worse. The only individual whos face wasn’t obscured was the carriage driver, but he was so extremely short and squat it was a wonder he looked person shaped at all.

The strange little man hopped down from the his seat and waddled to the doors of the carriage. Even the wheels towered over him, making the entire thing look much larger than it really was. He cleared his throat and rapped twice on the door. “Announcing his Royal Highness, The Serpent, Crown Prince Crowley of Gehenna.”

Aziraphale’s brain skips right over ‘Royal Highness’ and ‘Crown Prince’ and latches firmly onto ‘Serpent’. Imagining his betrothed as a half-man half-snake person with green scales covering their entire body and the head of a snake with longs fangs dripping in acidic poison. His brain completely stops working when, instead, a tall, handsome man emerges from the darkened interior. Dressed in all black, sinfully tight trousers, and snakeskin boots, he runs his fingers through his fiery red hair as he approaches, swinging his hips in a way that is entirely distracting and not all how hips are supposed to work. High cheek bones and a long nose hold dark spectacles in place, hiding his eyes.

He is an absolute vision and Aziraphale begins to feel lightheaded as he draws nearer because his lungs have taken a vacation and decided to stop breathing all together. Aziraphale can’t possibly believe it. Not only is his betrothed the Crown Prince, but he looks entirely normal. No horns or boils or anything monstrous to be seen at all. Sure, it’s entirely possible his glasses are covering freakishly hideous eyes but the rest of him would certainly make up for it.

“King Gabriel.” His voice is a low drawl that definitely sends Aziraphale’s heart a flutter. He gives a shallow bow directed at Gabriel which the king returns. As they both straighten Gabriel grasps his hand in a firm shake.

This close, Aziraphale can now make out dark red snakes embroidered across his black doublet. He attempts to regulate his breathing, it would look bad if he were to faint right here, and catches a whiff of cinnamon and something smokey that is incredibly pleasant.

“Prince Crowley. It is a pleasure to have you as our guest. I hope you experienced no issues in your travels?”

Crowley gave a small shake of his head “No issues at all. Your kingdom is quite beautiful.”

“Good! Good. Glad to hear it.” Gabriel motions towards Aziraphale. “Please, allow me to introduce my youngest brother, Prince Aziraphale. Perhaps the king mentioned him from my letters.”

Aziraphale has to swallow thickly when Crowley’s attention is turned entirely to him and for the first time the foreign princes thin lips twitched upward while his eyebrows rose a fraction above his glasses before he schooled his features back to impassive. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Aziraphale.”

“O-oh yes. Wonderful to meet you, as well.” Aziraphale offered his hand, expecting a handshake. He did not expect Prince Crowley to grasp the tips of his fingers, bend right at the waist, and press a chastise kiss to his knuckles. Aziraphale was struck at how cool and smooth his fingers were, in direct contrast to the warmth of his lips.

Aziraphale wasn’t able to fight back the blush he knew was coloring his face before Prince Crowley lifted his head. He did catch the smirk Crowley wore before it was forced back however, and the sight of it made his knees wobbly.

Once Crowley was fully upright again Gabriel clapped a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, making him stumble. “Well, now that pleasantries are out of the way, I’m afraid I must take my leave. Aziraphale, why don’t you show Prince Crowley to his quarters and give him a tour of the palace? It wouldn’t do to have our most esteemed guest getting lost on his way to dinner.”

It takes Aziraphale a moment to process what his brother just said, a moment too long because Crowley is responding for him. “I’m sure the prince has more important things to do than be my personal escort.”

Gabriel smirks. “He doesn’t, right Aziraphale?”

And now he _has_ to respond and of course his voice doesn’t want to cooperate and comes out much higher than intended. “Of course! I-er, would be delighted to show you around. No trouble!” He’s sure he’s wrinkled his trousers beyond saving with how tightly he grips them and he hopes the smile now plastered to his face looks more sincere than it feels.

The corners of Crowley’s lips turn downward ever so slightly. “If it is no trouble.”

Gabriel claps his hands together. “Right, well, I’ll be taking my leave then.” He inclines his head to the foreign prince, who returns the gesture, and quickly returns to the palace interior.

There is a moment of tense awkwardness between the two before Prince Crowley clears his throat. “Shall we then?”

“R-right! Yes! O-of course. Please, follow me, Your Highness.”

Aziraphale knows what to do, of course. It isn’t difficult to give a tour of the only place he’s called home, but it is nerve wracking. Such things were always reserved for his older and more important siblings. Aziraphale was always just expected to stand around, keep quiet, and look appropriately princely.

To Aziraphale’s surprise and frustration Prince Crowley is a fount of questions and curiosity. The questions start general enough: How old the palace is, what it’s made from, how long Aziraphale’s family has reigned from it, etc. Then every hall and room bring even more questions about the various works of art and styles of architecture that decorate the palace. They have to stop at every tapestry and painting for Crowley to inquire about who or what is being portrayed.

By the time they reach the Grand Ballroom two hours later Elysium’s youngest prince has entirely forgotten how terrified he _should_ be of their guest and is, instead, one question away from snapping. It’s not that he’s opposed to questions and curiosity, if his private book collection is anything to go by Aziraphale is quite the fan of seeking knowledge, it’s that he doesn’t actually have the answers to the large majority of Prince Crowley’s ponderings. Though he seems genuinely interested in the answers Aziraphale can give, anytime a question is answered with ‘My apologies, Your Highness, I’m not sure,’ Crowley just shrugs him off and launches into the next question. It really doesn’t help that many of his questions are entirely nonsensical.

“That’s quite a lot of chandeliers you lot have in here. How many candles to you think it takes to fully light them?”

Of course it would be something innocuous that would be the final straw that broke his metaphorical back. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps you could direct your inquires to the staff? I’m sure they could provide the information I am so obviously lacking.”

Crowley’s entire body stills and Aziraphale can see his shoulders go taut from where he stands behind him.

Oh no. Aziraphale freezes. He hadn’t intended to be so rude. It just… came out, but now the words were out there in the world, impossible to catch and reel back in. Crowley was their _guest_. Crowley was a foreign _prince_. Crowley was his _betrothed_. And he’d just been incredibly rude to him. “M-my, er, apologies. What I mean to say was… er… Well-” The sudden shaking of the other prince’s shoulders and the quick cackling laughter stops Aziraphale in his stumbling backtracking.

“Ha! Wondered when you’d finally crack. Was beginning to wonder if you had the patience of an angel or somethin’.”

Aziraphale stared as Crowley turned towards him. The foreign princes hand covered his mouth, but the tell-tale upturned corners could just be made out behind his long fingers. Aziraphale felt himself begin to smile as well and huffed out a small laugh. A joke. It had been a joke. The Crown Prince was joking with him, he wasn’t offended at all.

Aziraphale felt himself begin to relax, but as Crowley’s hand fell away from his lips, his grin remained and Aziraphale’s smile froze on his face. Crowley’s grin was stretched across his face a little to far to be entirely natural, his canines just a little to long and pointed. It was the grin of a predator, or a devious cat who’d just cornered a mouse. In that moment there was no doubt in Aziraphale’s mind that the man before him was no man at all. His voice and face and skin and lips might have done a fabulous job of making him appear man shaped, but there was something dangerous and inhuman lurking beneath.

He could see his own wide-eyed horror reflected in the princes dark lenses. Crowley’s grin faltered and he sobered up quickly, turning back around. “Well, shall we continue?” His voice was clipped and significantly less lighthearted than it was a moment ago.

Aziraphale nodded numbly and only realized in the deafening silence following that he would have to find his voice and speak. “R-right. Yes. Continue. Er, this way, please.”

The rest of the tour was somber and awkward. Crowley asked no more questions and Aziraphale used every ounce of strength within him to remain as polite and cordial as possible.

There was only an hour till dinner when they arrived at Crowley’s quarters in the Guest Wing.

“Well, here we are then. Dinner should be starting, er, shortly. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask the staff.” Aziraphale feels like an idiot the moment the words leave his lips. What was he saying? Of course, _of course_, a bloody prince would know he could call upon servants and staff. Why did he even say that?

Prince Crowley opened the door and turned to face him. “Thank you for your consideration. I expect I will see you at dinner?” When he turned the light from the windows beyond the door caught his hair and set it ablaze and made his high cheek bones even more prominent.

He was alluring and beautiful and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat and he had the sudden desire to run his fingers through his sun kissed locks and-

_NO_. It took a monumental amount of will power to steer his mind away from the direction it was quickly tumbling. He had to gulp down air to slow the rapid pounding of his heart and _when had it started to beat so fast_? “Y-yes. Of course. Dinner. R-right. Wouldn’t miss it.” What in the world was going on?

Aziraphale inclined his head respectfully, turned on his heels, and retreated back through the hall at a brisk but unhurried and measured pace. He didn’t hear the door click shut until he was more than halfway down the hall.

The youngest prince of Elysium was unnerved. Despite every logical portion of his brain screaming at him that he should be utterly and completely terrified of Prince Crowley, for some reason while in his presence he can’t seem to hold onto the fear. It just falls through his fingers like so much sand and replaced with something much more, well, carnal in nature.

Aziraphale locks himself in his rooms with shaky breaths and trembling hands. With distance Aziraphale’s mind feels less clouded. He can still appreciate that Prince Crowley is an attractive man, no argument there, but it’s tainted with the knowledge of something monstrous lurking just beneath the surface.

The only explanation he can come up with is magic. It has to be. His books say dark magic that twists people minds and forms runs rampant in Gehenna. He must be using magic to make himself appear as an incredibly attractive (Aziraphale gives himself a pinch) human. As well as increase his… desirability. Yes, that _must_ be it.

Aziraphale doesn't have much time before dinner, but he launches himself at his books. He’s read every single one of them, of course, but it’s possible he skipped over some important passage about how to counter act their magics.

He scours every shelf and pile for any and all books on Gehenna. It wasn’t his preferred subject, but time is short and he can always go to the palace library tomorrow. Unfortunately the few texts in his private collection only detail a few of the more important battles, and even those are obviously exaggerated for dramatic effect. One even describes an ancient Gehenna king as a massive dragon that flew over Elysium forces, breathing fire on their camps and leading Gehenna forces in battle before being struck down by an Elysium king and another speculates about Gehennan spellcasters setting plagues on the villages and towns closest to the border. But nothing on how to stop their magic from effecting his mind, or how to see through illusions.

Aziraphale doesn’t give up, however, and when books specifically about Gehenna fail to give him the information he wants, he goes to books about other foreign places and even a few of his favorite fictions in search of answers.

A significant dip in light is the only thing that can pull Aziraphale out of his research frenzy. The candle on his desk burns itself out, plunging the room into sudden darkness. Aziraphale gasps at the lack of light, looking around wildly before realizing just how late in the evening it’s gotten.

In his hurry to make sense of everything that’s happened, he completely lost track of time. The sun has fully set and night is already a few hours in and he missed dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Crowley have magic sex appeal? Is he just Aziraphale's type? Who knows! Well, I know, but y'all will have to keep reading to find out.
> 
> Do note that any guesses on what is going on with Crowley, correct or not, will not receive any kind of serious answer from me. If ya'll REALLY wanna guess and get spoiled you'll have to send me an ask or message on tumblr. I WOULD offer something fun for the first person to guess correctly, but i know I'm not nearly as subtle as I like to think I am.
> 
> Want to chat about fic, fandom, or whatever? Hit me up at theladydrgn on tumblr.


	3. Aziraphale's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry for the long wait! A mixture of IRL things and writers block kept me from writing more than I would like but all your kind and wonderful messages and comments kept me going. Seriously the love this fic has got has sent me over the moon!
> 
> Please enjoy this extra long chapter in apology for the long wait <3

Daylight broke softly, gently, across books and shelves with dust motes dancing in the golden rays.

Aziraphale hadn’t slept a wink and when the first dregs of sunlight began filtering into his study all he could do was bury his face in his hands and regret the last twenty-four hours.

What was he going to do? Skipping Prince Crowley’s first dinner at the palace was a high insult, regardless of how accidental it was. It’s possible Aziraphale might have even ruined what ever deals Gabriel had made if Crowley was offended enough. In hindsight just leaving the foreign prince to his own devices at all had been a grave error on Aziraphale’s part. Not only had it caused him to miss dinner, but leaving him like that had been a slight in and of itself. He _should_ have offered to show Crowley around the royal gardens, introduce him to important members of staff, or have bloody tea. Anything but running off to bury his nose in books that didn’t even have the information he wanted in the first place.

Aziraphale was well and truly deep in self loathing and depreciation when a soft knock at the door broke him from his thoughts. “Come in, I suppose.” He muttered while rubbing both temples. He wasn’t ready to deal with this, he hadn’t even had tea yet!

The door only opened enough for a familiar head to peak in. “Sorry I’m late, Your Highness. Hope my absence wasn’t too much of a bother.”

Aziraphale had been expecting one of Gabriel’s people to come and fetch him for a scolding, not the timid, nervous, Newton Pulsifer. “Oh. Newton. N-no, it’s quite alright. Please, come in.”

The man shuffled inside, a tray of tea with a warm breakfast precariously balanced on one arm. “I brought this as a… peace offering. In case you were mad at me...”

Aziraphale cleared a space on a nearby table, setting the books that had previously occupied it in a stack on the floor. “I’m not mad. Gabriel’s people are… difficult… to deal with, but I shouldn’t complain. You suffered a great loss, dear boy.”

Newt gave a timid smile and poured cups for the both of them. He poured a bit to fast and some of the tea spilled into the table, but Aziraphale was well use to Newtons accidents by now and pretended like he didn’t notice. Aziraphale had long since realized that drawing attention to Newton’s… particularities would only make the man more nervous and prone to more accidents.

Despite the absolute mess Aziraphale had made of things recently, he was very glad to see Newton. While Gabriel and the rest of his siblings had a plethora of servants and staff at their beck and call, Aziraphale only had Newt. Newt had been taken on, originally, for the kitchens but after burning three pies and mixing up salt and sugar he’d been sent to the stables. He lasted only two days there before a gate was left open and the entire herd escaped. After that Newton was bounced around from area to area, chaos and accidents following not far behind.

He would have just been let go and told to never come back were he not the nephew of a minor lord, but eventually even the Head-of-Staff had had enough. Aziraphale could remember it clear as day: Ms. Martin, covered from head to toe in still dripping wet paint, had stalked right up to Gabriel and gabbed her finger in his chest. “Now listen here, Your Majesty, with the utmost respect, you want that Pulsifer boy around so badly? You find somewhere for him to go. I am done. You hear me? Done! Either you put him somewhere out of my hair by tomorrow morning or you will be in need of a new Staff Head.” She hadn’t waited for Gabriel to respond, just stormed right back out, not even looking back, paint splattering the ground with every step.

The next morning Aziraphale had been introduced to his new servant and that had been that. And sure, Newton was a klutz and often times a bit slow to understand things, but he was also a very good listener and surprisingly intelligent when he wasn’t being berated about every little mishap.

Aziraphale studied his companion over the rim of his tea cup. Dark circles under his eyes, dark hair a more frazzled mess than it usually was, and he’d missed one of the buttons on his vest. “Newton… When, exactly, did you get back?”

“Oh uh…” He blinks owlishly for a moment. “Just a few hours ago actually.”

The prince gasps and sets his cup down a but harder than he meant, tea sloshing over the side. “A few hours ago!? Why, you shouldn’t be here pandering to me! You should be resting!”

Newt just shrugs. “S’not a big deal. Figured you would want someone around with… well with everything going on.”

Aziraphale sighed. “No need to beat around the bush, dear boy. Though I do appreciate the concern.” Newton had every reason to be concerned, really, considering he’d been called away in the middle of Aziraphale’s lowest point these last four weeks. No one can predict when a family member will pass, and Newton had been reluctant to go, but Aziraphale had insisted he should at least show up to his aunts funeral.

They finished off the entire pot slowly and Aziraphale managed to eat a real breakfast for the first time in weeks. Aziraphale was reluctant to face the rest of the day and Newt just glad to have a moment to rest.

Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of him. “So… this Prince Crowley… what’s he like?”

Aziraphale startled. “How is it you know who my betrothed is when you haven’t been here for two weeks, and I didn’t even know who it was until he arrived yesterday?”

Newt scratched the back of his head and had the sense of mind to look embarrassed. “Well…. While I was waiting in the kitchens for Thomas to finish cooking everything, you know how they won’t let me touch anything, I might have overheard some of the staff going on about him...”

Of course the staff were talking. “Do I want to know?”

Newt shrugged. “Mostly just that he’s tall, mysterious, and devilishly handsome. Which, apparently, makes for, and I’m quoting here, ‘an intriguing man’. From what I could tell between Ms. Martin scolding everyone for gossip and being shooed out of the kitchen, they are all gaga over him.”

Aziraphale groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Of course they are.”

“I also heard you skipped dinner.”

The prince peaked from behind his fingers. “Did they happen to mention if I was… missed?”

Newt scrunched up his nose in thought. “Not that I could hear. They were more concerned with how apparently Prince Crowley barely touched his food last night and refused breakfast this morning.”

The prince groaned. He was probably so mad at Aziraphale’s blatant insult that he lost his appetite.

Aziraphale rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers and noted he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. “Right. Well, no sense in sitting around and gossiping like old hens. It’s been too long since I’ve had a walk about town. Give me a few minutes to bathe and change and meet me at the gates.”

Newt blinked owlishly. “We-were going out?”

Aziraphale stood and started making his way to the bedroom. “Of course. I’ve been cooped up in the palace for too long and I think its getting to me. Besides, I need to visit the library.”

It took no time at all for Aziraphale to get ready. He carefully folded and stored yesterdays outfit in the laundry, took his time in the bath, and put on clothes that were more his style. He didn’t dislike the stark white, blue, and gray that represented the kingdom, but he much preferred a softer color palette. Once dressed in his favorite velvet waistcoat, tan trousers, and matching coat he was already feeling much more relaxed and himself.

By the time Aziraphale made it from his chambers to the entry hall, he practically had a hop in his step. He would go into the city with Newton, they could stop by his favorite pastry shop, feed the ducks at the park, and hit up The Royal Library. Aziraphale was certain today might actually be a good day.

Unfortunately Aziraphale’s good mood is cut tragically short by a large hand clamping down hard on his shoulder. “Aziraphale! Little brother. Seems you’re on your way out, how fortunate for me to catch you.”

Fortunate, perhaps, for Gabriel who puts just enough force on Aziraphale’s shoulder to make him turn around. Aziraphale thinks it’s more like the universe being out to get him.

“Gabriel… yes, fortunate. W-what can I do for you?” He hopes for a single moment that Gabriel isn’t upset about last night. His hopes are dashed when he meets his older brothers violet eyes and sees the rage smoldering there. The hand still on his shoulder tightens enough to bruise.

“What can you – Aziraphale, you can _start_ by explaining why you skipped dinner. Not that you needed it,” Gabriel gave him a once over, “but you’re lucky Prince Crowley wasn’t upset enough to cause a scene. I certainly would have if it were me.”

Aziraphale can imagine how incensed Gabriel would be if he was treated the same way Aziraphale was treating Crowley. In fact, he can see it all to clearly. Gabriel would be beside himself with rage, would demand a formal apology, might even insist on having his pick of what ever it was his guests were offering. Gabriel is a king and Crowley will one day be one as well, he would be well within his rights to make demands.

And wasn’t that just terrifying? A monster parading as a man given every reason to demand whatever he might want.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I was-”

“Yes?”

“… Distracted… I got lost in my books...” Aziraphale worried the bottom edge of his waistcoat as Gabriel loomed over him.

“Lost…. In your books… That’s your excuse? For making me and the rest of our family look like fools?” Gabriel took a step forward and Aziraphale shrunk back.

“That is… you see… I-”

“Sounds like as good a reason as any, to me.”

Gabriel released his shoulder, turning quickly towards the newcomer and the prince almost sunk to floor in a mixture of relief and shock.

And there Prince Crowley stood. Wearing a dark gray shirt, that although puffy in the sleeves tightened around the shoulders with a collar that dipped low enough to show off the center plane of his chest, and black trousers tight enough they could have been a second skin. His arms were crossed behind his back and head tilted to one side, but the dark glasses that hide his eyes obscured whatever he might be thinking.

The king gave him a grin, but it was a bit to wide and manic to be sincere. “Prince Crowley, you can’t possibly be suggesting-”

“I believe you’ll find that I am. Reading and seeking knowledge is not something that should be discouraged.”

Aziraphale gaped like a fish out of water while Gabriel huffed. Prince Crowley was… defending him? Standing up for him? Why Crowley would do this eluded him. Certainly Prince Crowley understood the position he was in? That for this slight he could demand most anything and it would be given to him? The idea the Crowley didn’t know was so ludicrous that it was tossed aside before it even became a fully formed thought. And in it’s absence the only alternatives were… Either Crowley meant what he was saying, or he was playing some other game.

Aziraphale had seen those types of games played before. Watched Sandalphon pretend to forgive a slight, only to use it to his advantage later. Aziraphale had asked once, when he was younger and bolder and a bit more naive, why he didn’t press his advantage right away, why he waited. Sandalphon’s response hadn’t made sense at the time, ‘The politics we play is like chess. Taking a piece the moment you can just because you can is not how you win.’ Aziraphale had learned, in time, what it meant and the thought of Prince Crowley playing that game was the opposite of comforting.

The tense moment was broken by a yelp followed by a thud and a groan. All three royals turned to the source of the commotion; Newt, splayed out on the floor and rubbing his behind. “Ow. Sorry. Floor’s still wet.”

Gabriel huffed again. “Well, since you are already going out, why don’t you show His Highness around the city? Not like you’re doing anything actually important anyway.”

Aziraphale wanted to argue. Wanted to say absolutely not. Wanted to explain to Gabriel how he had planned on using his time to not only recuperate from the entirety of the last few weeks, but to also research Gehenna and the bewitching magic he was certain Crowley was using on him. After all, from the moment Crowley had made himself known this morning, Aziraphale had been unable to entirely look away from him. No matter how hard he tried, Crowley was magnetic and his eyes kept being drawn to him and his handsome face. It had to be spellcraft.

But he couldn’t afford to insult Prince Crowley again. Even _if_ he was genuinely forgiving of the previous one, another would be too much to ignore.

“O-of course. I would be, er, honored to have Prince Crowley accompany me.” He hoped the smile he put on at least looked more honest than it was.

Prince Crowley just raised a single eyebrow while Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Wonderful!” He turned and took a few steps only to turn back around suddenly. “Oh! And no skipping dinner this time, yes?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Aziraphale felt sick.

And then they were alone. Well, not really alone. Newt was standing just a small ways away at the door after having picked himself off the floor looking nervous, but it was _Newt_ and he was very good at blending into the background.

Crowley stepped towards him and Aziraphale had to consciously stop himself from taking a mirrored step back even when the foreign prince lowered his head to speak close to Aziraphale’s ear. “You don’t have to… entertain me, if you don’t want to, you know.” His voice was a soft, low timbre and Aziraphale had to suppress a shiver and a blush at the warm breath that ghosted over his ear.

“N-no. That’s, er, quite all right. I don’t mind. Really.” From the corner of his eye he could see the slight downturn of Crowley’s mouth. “Besides, you’re a guest. It would be impossibly rude to go off and leave you on your own.”

There is a beat of stillness and silence where Aziraphale can hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest, almost in his throat, and has to keep careful control of his breathing. But Crowley does, eventually, return to a more upright standing position “If you’re sure.”

Aziraphale is sure he doesn’t want Prince Crowley to come with, but he can’t very well say that so instead he nods and turns to Newton. “Newt, it would appear I already have a companion for today’s outing. Why don’t you head home and recuperate from your long journey? Take the rest of the day off, you can attend to me tomorrow.”

“Oh. Uh, sure. Yeah. I can do that.”

With great reluctance Aziraphale leads his companion out the front doors and then around to the side. They could have left through the main gates Crowley arrived through yesterday, but that would mean having to walk down the main road possibly attracting attention and Aziraphale preferred keeping a low profile when in town. Instead, Aziraphale almost always takes the service gates when going out on little excursions. While the main gate is large and leads to a wide cobbled road lined only in the finest of dogwoods for an entire mile before you finally make it to the city proper surrounded by large manors, the side gates are small, really only used by the staff when coming and going, and the road winds through a small forested area before the trees give way to various homes and businesses.

If Prince Crowley is surprised they don’t have a proper escort or forgo the main gate, he doesn’t make it known.

Their walk is quiet at first, save for the occasional noises of animals in the underbrush or the wind rustling the trees. Though this portion of the woods is well traveled with a fenced-off stone path, it actually extends far past the palace. Aziraphale is aware Gabriel often hunts in the wilder parts, though he has never been invited to partake in that particular activity.

They pass a few palace staff on their way, most of which politely incline their heads at Aziraphale. They know his particularities and seeing the youngest prince out and about is no surprise, however the moment their eyes land on Prince Crowley they all fall all over themselves to bow and acknowledge him.

Crowley waves pretty much all of them away after the first one and Aziraphale is grateful, but after the eighth or ninth time this happens it’s begun to grate on the nerves. Aziraphale had hoped they could still avoid mass attention, but if this is how palace staff react he’s terrified to think how things might turn out once they get into the city. It’s been far too long since anything remotely exciting happened and their people aren’t exactly subtle.

The only somewhat comforting thing is how Crowley has begun to sound just annoyed as Aziraphale feels, but it’s not enough to abate the strengthening waves of anxiety as they near the end of the woods.

Elysium’s capital is called the Silver City, named thus for the white shining stone all it’s buildings, roads, walls and even palace are made from. It’s said, that from a great distance, when the sun hits just right, it looks like the entire city is made of liquid silver. It’s grand and people come from all across the kingdom to get just a glimpse of the shining streets.

Aziraphale loves his city, it’s beautiful, bustling, safe, and normally he can walk around it with little to no problem. He’s been exploring the streets and shops since he was small and building rapport with his favorite shopkeeps. The people know who Aziraphale is, of course, but he’s become such a common sight, hardly anyone gives him a second glance anymore, which is exactly how Aziraphale likes it.

Unfortunately, with Prince Crowley now at his side, things become much more difficult. At first all seems normal. They trail through the streets, Aziraphale pointing out which shops he likes and answering the few questions Crowley throws his way. In fact Aziraphale would almost say it was peaceful. Things quickly go down hill from there.

All it took, really, was one person. Just one singular person to notice their youngest prince was walking around with a tall dark stranger. Then that person told another who told all their friends and in no time at all anyone who was anyone had a fairly good idea who their bookish prince was with. There was, after all, only one handsome stranger who had arrived barely twenty-four hours ago. The leap wasn’t difficult.

It started when the duo was approached by a young woman. Aziraphale recognized her, vaguely, as the daughter of his favorite tailor. He’d never formerly spoken to her, just seen her in passing, but she approached and grabbed his hand like they were old friends. “Congratulations on the engagement, You Highness. We are all so happy for you.”

It was like a dam had broken. One person bold enough to walk up to them and mention the thing they all had been wondering and gossiping about paved the way for and entire mob of people to swarm them.

This was what Aziraphale had been worried about. His father’s reign, and Gabriel’s so far, had been incredibly peaceful. The kingdom was prospering, hostility with foreign nations was at an all time low, natural disasters were even decreasing. In short: nothing exciting was going on. Sandalphon’s marriage had been the most exciting thing to happen since the last royal birth and Uriel had been engaged for just over a year. Everyone was on high alert for a wedding announcement, it obviously didn’t matter if it wasn’t the exact wedding they had all been expecting.

The prince began to sweat as more people joined in the crowd. It wasn’t that he wasn’t use to large groups of people, but normally he wasn’t the main event. He was the wallflower, the one no one looked twice at.

He could feel the increasing tap-tap-tap of his heart and his breath coming in quicker and quicker gasps until.

Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. Well he could, technically, but he just couldn’t seem to get a full breath. He couldn’t breathe and there were so many people. Too many people crowding around and asking questions he didn’t know the answers to.

And he’d lost Crowley somewhere in the confusion. One moment they’d been side-by-side then the next someone he didn’t recognize had taken his place and was asking about the wedding planning.

Somehow everyone seemed to know about it, that they were to be wed. How did they know? Had Gabriel announced it during the month Aziraphale had been indisposed? All evidence pointed towards yes and Aziraphale really wished he hadn’t because now that it had been brought up everyone wanted to know: Who all is invited? Is there a theme? Would there be a ball? When is the ceremony?

Aziraphale had no answers to their questions. No one had told him anything, consulted him on anything and it was too much, too much. His breath came quicker and quicker. No one noticed the red of his face or how he barely mumbled out responses, or if they did they thought it was embarrassment. His vision swam and spun and he couldn’t find a single detail to focus on.

The prince tried to take a step back, maybe if he could just put some distance between himself and the crowd it would be fine, he could take a breath and gather his bearings but he bumped into someone behind him and couldn’t even stutter out an apology before his knees started to give out and his brain was just barely able to register that he was well on his way to hitting the ground in front of a large group of people and making a fool of himself.

He didn’t though. Aziraphale was dimly aware of a strong hand grabbing him by the upper arm, of a low commanding voice that was all but downed out by the loud pounding of his heart. He knew an arm had wrapped around his shoulders and was guiding him forward, but his vision still swam and everything was a blur of color that made no sense.

This was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous. He was a prince for crying out loud, he’d been experiencing crowds and mass groups of people since he was an infant, so why _now_ was he responding to it all like a frightened child? Why now was it too much, too loud, too bright, too _everything_?

His breath was still coming in short little gasps and his hands had, at some point, fisted into his vest but it didn’t keep them from shaking. In fact all of him was shaking. His hands, his legs, his arms, his shoulders. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. His brothers and sisters and mother and father never had this problem. They had been made for being in the spotlight. Made to be known. He was just-

“-phale.”

Aziraphale blinked once, twice. A voice, familiar now, had cut through his racing thoughts. There were firm hands on both of his shoulders and stone against his back. He blinked again, vision slowly coming back to focus and the roaring in his ears abating.

He was looking down. He could recognize his own sensible tan loafers opposite… were those black snake skin boots? The light was muted here, where ever here was, still white and bright, of course, but not shining and blinding like before. It was quite here too. No more constant voices.

“Aziraphale?” The voice is soft and oh so quiet and it catches Aziraphale’s attention immediately.

He looks up slowly. The ridiculous boots are attached to long thin legs clad in black leather that lead to a trim waist and torso.

He’s coming back to himself now. His breath has slowed to something much more even and calm and everything has stopped spinning.

“Are you with me, Aziraphale?”

His eyes climb the last few inches, past a long throat to the angular face and sharp cheekbones, to stare at his own reflection in the dark glasses perched on Prince Crowley’s nose.

“I- yes. Yes, I think so.”Aziraphale mumbles, but Crowley seems to hear him just fine and nods.

“Right. Good. Er, do- do you need anything?”

Aziraphale slowly shakes his head. “No… No I just-just a moment, please.”

Crowley nods again, releasing Aziraphale’s shoulders and taking a slow step back. And that’s when Aziraphale realizes it, how his lips are set in a thin line and his eyebrows are furrowed together, Crowley is concerned. For him.

Aziraphale does a quick look at their surroundings. An alley of some sort, tucked just off the road where he can see people passing them by without even a glance in their direction.

“We’re uh, just off from where they stopped us… Didn’t want to take you too far while you were, you know, out of it.” Crowley rubs at the back of neck, looking away.

And Aziraphale stares. It’s been many years since anyone had showed concern for Aziraphale. The last to do so in any genuine capacity had been the late queen. Newt, of course, was perpetually concerned about everything and everyone so he didn’t count, not really.

“You… you helped me.”

Prince Crowley turned his full attention to him. “’Course I did. Figured you wouldn’t want to pass out in front of everyone.”

A small bud of warmth was blooming in Aziraphale’s chest and he couldn’t help but smile at the foreign prince. “Oh… Thank you.” At this point Aziraphale didn’t even care _how_ Crowley had gotten them out, all that mattered was that he _had_. He could have just left Aziraphale there to fend for himself and shoulder the embarrassment, but he hadn’t. He’d been _kind_ and even the more cynical part of his brain telling Crowley was just playing the long game couldn’t break the haze of happiness Aziraphale

found himself in.

Crowley grunted and made a minute adjustment to his glasses. “S’not a big deal. Don’t go making a thing of it.” But the slight dusting of pink just below the spectacles gave him away. “Anyway, did you want to keep going to… I have no idea where we were going.” He admitted, a bit sheepishly.

“Oh! That’s right, I never said. I was planning on visiting The Royal Library.”

Crowley frowned. “You mean the Royal Library isn’t,” he waved his hand in the general direction of the palace, “back there?”

The laugh that erupted from Aziraphale seemed to startle Crowley, whos mouth was left hanging open. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, not really.” He waved his hands in front of him. “There is the Palace Library, of course, but it wouldn’t have what I’m looking for. It’s mostly for record keeping, genealogies of prominent families, history of the kingdom, tax records, those sorts of things. The Royal Library is the name of the public library here in the city. It’s a common mistake for newcomers to conflate the two, or so I’m told.”

Crowley chuckled back. “’S a bit confusing. Did someone name it like that on purpose?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not exactly. It’s named such because it’s funded by the crown. One of my ancestors set it all up as a way to increase literacy for the common folk. I think it’s worked quite well.”

“Well shall we get going then? I’d love to see it.”

“Ah, well.” Aziraphale glanced back towards the alley entrance, hands gravitating back to the bottom edge of his waistcoat. “I… suppose we should.” He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of possibly being mobbed again. Crowley might haven been able to miraculously get them away from the first one, but did he want to risk it a second time?

Catching onto Aziraphale’s hesitation, Crowley made a counter offer. “Or, we could go back to the palace? Earlier was a bit… much, yeah?”

The tension that had been crawling back up Aziraphale’s spine lessened almost instantly. “Oh. Oh thank you. Yes, perhaps I could show you the library another time.”

Crowley gives a small smile. “I will look forward to it.” He offers his arm and Aziraphale can scarcely remember why he’d been terrified of him in the first place, threading his arm through Crowley’s with nary a second thought. This close, the smokey cinnamon scent of him is everywhere and his arm is warm and steady under Aziraphale’s hand.

Crowley leads them from the alley and back the way they came. Not a single person glances in their direction or even notices their presence. If Aziraphale had been paying attention he might have questioned it, as it was he was entirely too distracted with sneaking glances at Crowley from the corner of his eye to notice any possible odd behavior from the common citizens.

The way back is uneventful and quiet. It’s not an awkward quiet, on the contrary, it’s very nice and companionable, perhaps even peaceful. Aziraphale feels like he’s floating. His fiance had been kind, incredibly gentlemanly, and today was shaping up to be a very nice one indeed. Perhaps that’s why, once they had returned to the palace, Aziraphale opened his mouth and promptly shoved his foot in it.

Aziraphale gives his companion’s arm a slight squeeze. “You know, you’ve really surprised me.”

Crowley inclines his head just a bit in Aziraphale’s direction. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes. I was expecting you to be down right beastly, but you’ve been quite wonderful.” Aziraphale can’t help the slight blush that colors his cheeks.

“Beastly?”

Aziraphale doesn’t notice the slight tensing of Prince Crowley's shoulders. “Oh yes. Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Enlighten me.”

He doesn’t notice the clipped tone either. “Well, I mean, how Gehenna is full of monsters and devils and the like.”

“Ah.”

“I was quite worried, you know. All the stories about people being killed and eaten at the border. Of monsters using magic to bewitch and kidnap people. People with monstrous features coming out of the- Oh!” Crowley comes to a sudden stop, stopping Aziraphale with him, and roughly pulling his arm from Aziraphale’s grasp.

“Seriously!?” Crowley snarls, shoving his face into Aziraphale’s and making the prince take a step back. “And where did you hear this?” Crowley’s eyes brows have just about climbed into his hair and his mouth is set in a firm line.

Crowley takes a step forward.

Aziraphale takes another step back.

“Well I read it in-”

“Your bookss!?”

Aziraphale is too concerned with putting distance between him and Crowley, the happy fluffy floating feelings entirely gone now, to notice the slightly elongated sibilant. He takes a final step back, backed into a stone wall for the second time today. Crowley’s face is contorted into an enraged snarl, elongated canines on full display.

“Y-yes. I… I read about it.”

A feral growl comes from deep in Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale can feel the rumble of it without even touching him and it sets every fear response in his brain alight. That wasn’t the growl of an angry man, it was the growl of something much more dangerous. Aziraphale begins to shake.

“Ssso iss that what you think of me? Of my people?”

Aziraphale gropes at the wall behind him. “O-of course not… I-”

Crowley slams his fist in to the wall scant inches from Aziraphale’s left ear. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” Pale smoke curls from his flared nostrils and canines, once just a bit to long to be normal, have lengthened into sharp fangs.

Aziraphale continues to shake, mouth opening and closing but not a single noise to be made.

Crowley huffs and extracts his fist from the hole it made in the stone wall and he backs away. He flexes his fingers, but they aren’t fingers anymore. Long, black, scaled claws have taken the place of his hand. “Thought you were different. Obviously that was wrong.” He clutches the claw to his chest, turns on a heel, and stalks away.

Aziraphale is left trembling against the wall, but his knees don’t give out until Crowley has turned a corner and the click of his shoes have faded away. He doesn’t know how long he sits there on the floor, but it’s long enough for his trembling to mostly subside.

He dares a glance back and up. The substantial hole Crowley put in the _solid stone wall_ has cracks spidering out from it and Aziraphale realizes with startling clarity that Crowley could have ripped him to shreds if he’d been so inclined.

He uses the wall as leverage to stand back onto shaky legs. He knows he’s been foolish. Foolish to let his guard down like that, but also foolish to blindly trust second hand sources. Unfortunately the only primary source for information on Gehenna is unlikely to speak with him now.

Aziraphale steels himself, straightening his waistcoat and brushing stone dust from his shoulder. He turns the opposite way Crowley stormed off. The day is still young, and he has research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward three steps back ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> Well that was a fun roller coaster. I was debating on leaving Crowley's.... tantrum for next chapter and just ending this one on the fluffy stuff, but I think it feels more rounded out this way ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley mopes, Aziraphale frets, and the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slam-dunks this on Valentines day* I'M NOT DEAD Y'ALL  
Big shout-out to A.Z. Fell & Co. discord server for listening to me rant about this and helping with ideas for later chapters. Another big shout-out to the Ace Omens server because without their writing races this chapter would still be a wip.  
WARNING: Please note the change in rating from T to M. Nothing happens in this chapter to cause the rating to change, but there WILL be sexual content later down the line. I will be warning again in the notes when that content comes up, but I don't want people caught off guard.

\- Aziraphale

Aziraphale walked briskly through the pristine halls of the palace, studiously avoiding the more heavily trafficked halls. He did not rush, or run, despite the urgency. It would do him no good to draw attention or get caught up in trying to explain himself now. There was still a few hours before lunch, but he only had until dinner before he would face Prince Crowley again.

And he _would_ face him again. He had to. He just had one small matter to confirm to himself. A matter that had been slowly building in the back of his mind since earlier this morning.

Originally, Aziraphale might not have thought too terribly hard about the few histories he owned and read painting Gehenna and it’s citizens in a negative light. The war and hostility with the other kingdom was known and documented, taught in schools even! Of course Aziraphale only owned histories by the most celebrated and awarded of historians, certainly they wouldn’t steer him wrong, and he had found exactly what he expected to find in last nights research and had felt justified in his opinions. Now though, just a scant few hours later, everything was turned on its head.

Because Crowley had been _kind_. And not a single word, nor book, had even so much as implied that could be a possibility. Crowley had been kind earlier this morning when he stood up to Gabriel for him, whether that had been some political maneuver or not did not change that fact that it had been a kindness. Then, hours later, a second kindness had been bestowed in the form of escorting Aziraphale away from the source of his distress.

Even with Crowley’s recent outburst, even with the fangs and scales and claws, even with the instinctual primal fear of being face to face with a creature of nightmare, there had still been a small secret part of him that was certain Crowley wouldn’t hurt him. And it had been proven right. He had been completely at Crowley’s mercy and yet he hadn’t laid a hand, or claw in this case, on him. Crowley hadn’t hurt a single hair on his head, despite frequent chances yesterday and today, and that just didn’t line up with everything he had ever been told about their former enemy.

He needs to apologize. He knows he does. What he said was callous, possibly even cruel. He doesn’t know if an apology would be received, but he has to try. For the sake of at least having an amicable marriage if for nothing else. Besides, Prince Crowley had done nothing, so far, to warrant such cruelty.

The palace halls were anything but deserted, and multiple times Aziraphale had to hide in an alcove or around a corner in order to not be seen. It felt silly, really. Sneaking around his own home like a thief in the night. He shouldn't have had to, but servants talked and if word somehow got back to Gabriel that him and Prince Crowley had had a… falling out all because of Aziraphale’s own carelessness, well he’d never hear the end of it.

The final corridor to his intended destination was blessedly empty and Aziraphale sent up a silent prayer of thanks to any gods who might be listening before scuttling down it.

He opened the large oak door as quietly as he could and shut it behind himself with a soft click.

The room was small, every wall lined with shelves packed to bursting with scrolls and books and a heavy wood table dominated the center. It couldn’t hold a candle to the Royal Library in town, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could handle the hustle and bustle of the city so soon after the events of this morning. This would have to do.

He tugged at his waistcoat, straightened his bow-tie, and set about pulling the books he needed off the shelves.

\- Crowley

“All right. What happened this time?”

Prince Crowley was not sulking. He wasn’t. He was just… brooding. Brooding in a darkened room that was barely familiar while laying with his back to the mirror that held the image of the only person he actually considered a ‘friend’. “Nothing.” He grumbled.

The woman in the full-length mirror, tanned skin, dark wavy hair, and skirts for miles, adjusted her round glasses and looked unconvinced. “So you called on me for nothing? You sure about that?” She asked with the air of someone who already knew the answer to her question.

Crowley curled a little tighter in on himself. “He hates me.”

She sighed. “We went over this last night-”

“Not that! ‘S different.”

“So something _did_ happen.”

Crowley whined, something high pitched and not remotely human sounding, and wiggled about a bit before pulling a pillow over his head. “Maybe.”

She was losing her patience. “Listen. Either you can roll over, look at me, and actually tell me what the fuck you did this time _or_ I can just leave right now and let you fix your mess on your own.”

Crowley groaned, but did relent in rolling over. He kept the pillow over his head, but at least she could actually see him. It was an improvement.

“You’re a real bitch, Anathema.”

“It’s called tough love, sweetheart. Now spill.” Said Anathema.

And spill he did, but not before heaving a great sigh. “Everything was going great. We had a little walk about the city. This place is as bright as anything, by the way, even _with_ the glasses I feel like I’m going blind every time I step outside my damned room. Anyway, going great, was a bit awkward at first, but he was getting use to me so, win, right? Well, apparently half the bloody city are nosy busybodies and we almost got run over by a bloody mob.”

Anathema gasped. “A mob!?”

Crowley waved his hand at the mirror. “Not a mob mob. They weren’t violent or out for my head or anything. Just… really interested in us, me and Aziraphale. Anyway. Aziraphale and I got separated and by the time I got back to him he was panicking and on the verge of passing out right there on the street. So I just,” he wiggled his fingers, “and got him out of there.”

Anathema did not look as impressed as he’d hoped. “You did _what!?_”

“Just, you know, made everyone ignore us for bit. _You _try getting away from a mob you’re the center of attention for without a little extra help.” Crowley crossed his arms petulantly.

She threw her hands up. “What if you were caught!?”

Crowley sat up, letting the pillow fall to the side. “Well I wasn’t. So don’t worry about it.”

Anathema collapsed into her chair, that had previously gone unused, with a groan, her hands coming down to cover her face. “Crowley, if something were to happen to you, your father’s hand would be _forced_! We want peace not more war! You _know_ how quickly a large group of people can turn violent and you were just… throwing around magic when it’s against their laws? I’ve known you since we were children, you’re about as subtle as a bull in a-”

“I _was_ subtle! It was just a little mental obfuscation! S’not like I was running round, waving my arms, and shouting incantations or transforming or anything.”

Anathema sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just… keep going. We’ll talk about _that_ later.”

Prince Crowley slumped back onto the bed, laying on his back and staring at the white ceiling, already deciding they would _not_ talk about that later, thank you very much. “Right. Well, got him out of there and he eventually calmed down enough to not be shaking apart at the seams. Should’a seen him, he was a mess, but once he relaxed and realized he was alright, oh Ana,” he grabbed the pillow at his side and hugged it to his chest, “he wasn’t _scared_ of me. And I ruined it. I bloody _ruined_ it.” Crowley pulled the pillow up to cover his face again and groaned into it.

Anathema reached out to touch the glass the separated them. “Oh Crowley.” She whispered sadly. “I’m sure you didn’t ruin anything.”

“But I _did_. I got mad, I lost control, almost bloody transformed right there in the hall, punched a hole in the wall and everything. I messed up, Anathema.”

“You mean you-”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone-”

“Only Aziraphale.”

Anathema shot out of the chair and grasped either side of her own mirror. “Are you in danger!?” She yelled.

Crowley was silent for a moment, listening. When the only sound was his own breathing, he shrugged. “Don’t hear anyone knocking down my door to put my head on a pike, so I assume not.”

“Are actually going to take any of this seriously?” Anathema groaned allowing herself to fall back into her chair.

“Of course I’m taking this seriously, Ana!” Crowley growled. “You shouldn’t be worried about _me_ anyway. I can defend myself just fine against these humans. And S’not why I contacted you in the first place. Can we get back on track in dealing with my _actual_ problem?”

There was a glare standoff between the two for a moment before Anathema sighed and relented. “Sure. Yeah. Fine. I’ll just conveniently ignore the fact that you’re on the verge causing another war so we can discuss what ever petty thing set you off this time.”

Crowley launched himself out of the bed and stalked toward the mirror. “It’sss not petty! He called all of you, all of _usss_, monsssterss!”

“He what?” She whispered.

It took him a minute of heavy breathing to control himself before Crowley could respond. “Maybe not in those exact words, but it was damned close.”

“Crowley, what exactly did-”

“He said we were ‘beasts’, Anathema!” Crowley shoved his hands into his hair to pull at the strands and started pacing. “Said there were rumors and-and shit in his books. Read that we eat people, Ana. Actually eat people! How the bloody fuck was I suppose to respond to that!?”

“Hold on.” Anathema looked confused. “You said everything was going great. That he wasn’t scared of you. How was it great if he thought you were some hell-beast out to eat him?”

Crowley slumped back onto the edge of the bed, shaking his head slowly. “Said I surprised him. Said he expected me to be that. And he _was_ scared of me. Told you that yesterday. Could smell the terror on him. It was better today, at first. Well, guess I showed him, eh!? Showed him how ‘beastly’ I really am!”

“Crowley, I’m sure it’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad.”

The prince let out a hollow laugh. “Ah yes because showing what we really are to the humans has worked out so _wonderfully_ in the past. I’m sure he’ll look right past the fangs and claws and scales and have no problem marrying a monster parading around under the thin veneer of a man.”

Anathema bit her lip. “Well, he was going to find out anyway. You’re going to be married after all. Isn’t this better? Him finding out now instead of… later?”

All the prince could do was shrug. “Didn’t want him to find out like this, though. Wanted him to know me for who I am, not _what_ I am.”

“Well, what do you plan to do?” She asked.

Crowley shrugged again. “No idea. That’s why I got you isn’t it?” He let himself fall back to stare at the ceiling again. “Wish I never even came here.”

“This was your idea in the first place! You begged King Lucifer to let you come. Swore up and down you knew what you were doing, that you weren’t mistaken. Now you’re just going to give up after one minor setback?”

“Well what should I do then!? Cause I’m all fresh out of ideas.” Crowley growled.

“Well lucky for you, I’m not.”

Luckily for Prince Crowley, Anathema did, in fact, have a plan. She already knew he wouldn’t like it.

\- Aziraphale

The previously empty table was now laden with stacks of books and scrolls and loose parchment. One stack in particular wobbled precariously as Aziraphale slammed shut the book he had previously been reading.

Normally Prince Aziraphale was much more careful with his literature, but he’d been at this for hours now and was still no closer to understanding what, exactly, Prince Crowley was or how he should go about apologizing to him. The books here had been no help at all. Just like his personal collection, these books had not a single positive thing to say about the Kingdom of Gehenna or the people who lived there.

It’s what he expected, but it was still disappointing none the less.

Aziraphale dropped his head into his hands and groaned. His head hurt, his neck ached, and he had wasted precious hours with nothing to show for it except a newly in depth knowledge of the various wars and skirmishes Elysium had been involved in over the years.

The opening of the only door in the room caught the prince off guard and he struggled to quickly make his workspace seem to have some form of organization. “So sorry! I’ll clean up the mess right away! I was just-”

“Aziraphale! Wondered if I might find you here.”

Sandalphon was the last person Aziraphale expected to walk through that door, yet there he was.

“Brother!” Aziraphale gasped and stood quickly, tugging on his shirt sleeves and regretting not changing into something more ‘befitting his station’ earlier.

His brother barely spared him a glance, much more interested in sifting through the books piled around the table.

Sandalphon would examine a book, ‘hmm’, then place it back. This happened two, three, four times before Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er, you implied looking for me… Is there something I can help you with, perhaps?” He asked, fighting the urge to fidget with the edge of his waistcoat.

“Gabriel enlisted me to ensure you did not skip dinner again tonight.” His brothers dark beady eyes bore into him.

Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the desk lightly. “O-oh… Is - is it that time already? Must have lost track, I suppose.”

His brother ‘hmmed’. “Yes. Before we go, however, there is something I wanted to discuss with you.”

This could not bode well. Sandalphon rarely ever actually spoke to Aziraphale, and when he did it always set his teeth on edge. “O-oh?”

“I know you are aware of the history our kingdom has with Gehenna.” Sandalphon had taken to slowly pacing the other side of the desk from Aziraphale.

The younger prince nodded slowly. “Y-yes. That’s why I was here, actually! I wanted to have a better understanding of the issues we’ve had so as to not insult my… betrothed.”

Sandalphon seemed to ignore him. “Why, exactly, the savages expect us to trust them after all this time is beyond me, but we will _not_ be fooled. Gabriel did not think you would be up to the task, but I assured him your loyalty to our people was strong.”

“I’m… I’m sorry? I don’t under-”

Sandalphon stopped his pacing and turned to face Aziraphale fully. “We have reason to believe this ‘truce’ they have supposed is a farce.”

“What!? But -”

His brother kept on. “Gabriel wanted to choose Michael for this, but dishonoring her in such a way… No, I told him this would be a perfect chance to prove yourself.”

Aziraphale was, now, incredibly confused. “Prove myself? Brother, I feel as if you’ve lost me along the way. What, exactly, are you talking about?”

“Aziraphale, do keep up would you? That Gehenna savage and his father are looking for a political hostage. They want to use whoever we offer up to them as leverage to destroy our kingdom once and for all.”

The young prince reeled. This made no sense! Crowley wouldn’t _possibly_… “Are- are you sure? What if they really are looking for peace? And, even if that is true, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” Just the very idea left a sour taste in Aziraphale's mouth.

Sandalphon rolled his eyes and pulled out his pocket watch. “I don’t have time to explain it all to you now, but we have it on good authority that Gehenna is planning something nefarious. Just… keep a close eye on that ‘prince’, would you? If you see him do anything out of the ordinary you _must_ report it to me. Our brother has entrusted me with overseeing this entire endeavor.”

Aziraphale was still trying to wrap his mind around all of this, perhaps a day or two before he might have readily believed his older brother, but now he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he should be believing. “Right. Yes. I, er, haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll keep my eyes peeled though! Don’t you worry!” He knows he should feel bad for lying, but something about this doesn’t sit right with him besides, it’s not as if Crowley has done anything wrong. Being not exactly human it’s a crime, at least Aziraphale doesn’t think it is.

Sandalphon squints at him, as if sensing the lie, and Aziraphale has to fight the urge to squirm under his dissecting gaze. A moment passes before the older prince nods. “Good. I would expect nothing less from a Prince of Elysium. Come, Gabriel will be expecting us.”

They leave together. Aziraphale feels bad about not being able to put away his mess, but they DO have a records keeper and keeping Gabriel waiting has never worked out well for anyone. The walk to the dining hall is done in silence. Sandalphon makes no attempt at small talk and Aziraphale is too caught up in trying to process his brothers previous proclamations to make an attempt himself.

When they arrive, Gabriel and Michael are already seated. Gabriel is, as usual, at the head of the table, but Michael is not at his direct left as she usually is and Uriel is still absent. The king smiles large and fake as the door closes behind them. “Aziraphale! So good of you to join us at last… Where is Prince Crowley? Wasn’t he with you?”

“Ah, yes. Well, you see...” Aziraphale stutters his way around the words. With everyone now looking at him, his three siblings and the various dinner staff, he quite feels like he’s on an examination table. “A-after our little jaunt in the city, Prince Crowley returned to his rooms…. Said he was… tired! Yes, tired.”

Gabriel frowns and snaps once. One of the staff, a well dressed young woman, rushes forward. “Your Grace. How my I be of assistance?”

“Find Prince Crowley’s retinue and have them inform him of the time.”

She bows deeply and scurries off.

“Aziraphale, please, take your seat why we wait.” Gabriel motions to the chair at his left.

Aziraphale freezes in place. Michael isn’t sitting there, but taking her usual seat feels like an insult. The chairs closest to the king are meant to be high honors, they have never been Aziraphale’s place. It feels like wading through molasses as he approaches the table and sits gingerly at the very edge of his seat. He expects any second now to be reprimanded for accepting such an honor, but no reprimand is forthcoming.

His eyes flit between his siblings and the dining hall door, waiting for the moment Prince Crowley walks through them. He doesn’t know what he should say. He can’t really say anything, here, in front of everyone, but he _has_ to say _something_. Make small talk at the very least.

The tension is think enough to cut with a knife when the staff woman returns and she bows deeply to Gabriel once more as she approaches. “Your Grace, I was requested to inform you that His Highness, Prince Crowley, will be forgoing dinner this evening.”

Gabriel stares hard the poor woman while Aziraphale does his best to avoid eye contact with anyone. The king finally lets out an exasperated sigh before waving the woman away. “Fine. Yes. Whatever. Make sure a meal is delivered to his rooms regardless.”

She bows and leaves once more and other members of staff begin bringing out their meal.

Dinner is a quiet affair as it usually is when its just them with no guests to entertain. Aziraphale does his best to eat what he can and not let on how his stomach is absolutely tied in knots. He knows it’s his fault Crowley is avoiding them. If only he’d kept his big mouth shut, perhaps been a bit more shrewd, this wouldn’t be happening. He can feel Gabriel’s glare all through dinner and although Aziraphale knows his brother can’t possibly know for sure it’s Aziraphale’s fault Prince Crowley isn’t with them, it is of little comfort.

By the time dinner is concluded and they are all filling out of the hall, night has fallen. The only illumination this deep in the palace are wall sconces with candles and Aziraphale attempts to sneak away as casually as he can, hoping his siblings are decently enough distracted and tired to not notice him through the darkness.

“Aziraphale.”

He freezes in place and turns to face the angry face of King Gabriel. “Y-yes, Brother?”

Gabriel stalks towards him. “I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care how you feel about it, I don’t care how much time you do or do not spend together. This wedding is happening. We are counting on you and if you’ve done something to screw this up, there _will _be consequences. Do I make myself clear?” His voice is steady, almost calm, but the fury in his violet eyes is unmistakable.

Aziraphale nods quickly. “Absolutely. Yes. Crystal clear.” He says in a rush, hands clenched at the bottom of his waistcoat.

The king turns on his heel and stalks down the hall towards his rooms while Michael and Sandalphon watch on. They linger, for a time, before also leaving Aziraphale to his own devices.

Left standing in the corridor, Aziraphale is unmoored. Unsure of how to proceed or who he should even be trusting. He knows he _should_ trust his siblings, they certainly have what’s best for the kingdom in mind, but he _wants_ to trust Crowley. Inexplicably and unexplainably wants to trust a foreign prince who most definitely is not human. He must be going mad.

“Well that went down like a sack of potatoes.”

Aziraphale yelps, hands grasping at his chest as he swirls around towards the voice.

Crowley, in all his glory, is leaning casually against a wall just below a sconce. The flickering flames of the candle cast his face in moving shadow.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasps, feeling his elevated heart rate slow to something much more normal. “Oh good lord. You startled me.”

Even in the shadows he can see the arch of an eyebrow. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

Aziraphale takes a moment to straighten his clothes, mind racing to think of something, _anything_, to begin returning himself to Crowley’s good graces. “Your Highness, please you must understand that I-”

“Stop.” Crowley holds up a hand. “I’m not interested in your excuses or explanations.” Aziraphale’s stomach drops, “However, I would be willing to… overlook what happened if you can ignore my subsequent reaction. Say we’re even, hm?”

It’s an olive branch. An out stretched hand. It’s more than he deserves, he knows. “Oh. Yes I- I think that would be beneficial to the both of us.”

Crowley’s mouth is open, as if preparing to argue his point, but he clicks it shut in surprise and nods. “Right. Beneficial. Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Good. I’ll just...” He points his thumb over his shoulder and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Aziraphale calls out, and Crowley stops half turned away from him. “I- well, that is-” He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say he just knows it doesn’t feel right to let Crowley walk away yet. “The gardens! We have a, er, beautiful garden. I didn’t show it to you before, when I gave you the tour. Would you like to see it? With me? Tomorrow?” He knows he’s babbling but it all just comes forth with very little thought on his part.

Prince Crowley stares, Aziraphale can feel his eyes even if he can’t see them. “Garden?”

“Yes! No obligation, of course, just if you’d like.” Aziraphale isn’t even sure he wants Crowley to take him up on the offer or not, but it’s out there now, no taking it back.

“If I’d like.”

“Y-yes.”

Crowley runs a hand through his long hair. “I, er, yeah. That’s… fine. Good. Tomorrow, then?”

Aziraphale is almost beaming as he bids Crowley a good night and they part. A walk through the garden should placate Gabriel and give him ample opportunity to make amends. Besides, Elysium engagements usually last at least a year, he has plenty of time to figure out if Sandalphon’s information is correct and what, exactly, he should do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping next chapter will come out sooner than this did, I can't give any guarantees because writers block is a bitch but I promise this fic isn't abandoned, I'm just slow af.  
BIG THANKS to every reader and commenter! I love all of you.  
The fancy line-break is my art! Do not use without permission!
> 
> If you want to chat or simply yell in my inbox, you can find me at https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/


	5. Making Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale does his best to make things up to Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This didn't take nearly as long as last time, but is also a bit shorter. Apologies.

Morning brought Aziraphale significantly more clarity than he’d had the last few days. He decided, after mulling it over most of the night, that despite Prince Crowley saying he didn’t want an apology Aziraphale should still offer up a proper one anyway. It wouldn’t do to have a foreign prince and his betrothed thinking he couldn’t be civil.

For once Aziraphale was glad for how little he slept because he was awake at the crack of dawn. He took his time selecting an appropriate outfit and making sure he looked his best. First impressions were already thoroughly gone but he figures it can’t hurt to at least try and impress his future spouse a little bit.

Aziraphale frowned at himself in the mirror, tugging gently at the edges of his doublet. It was one he’d picked out himself, cream and blue with hints of silver in the stitching. He thought he looked quite fetching in it, that it brought out the blue of his eyes and complimented his pale hair. Now he wasn’t so sure as he examined the way it did little to slim sides and stomach.

Normally Aziraphale wasn’t too terribly concerned with his weight or figure. He was happy, comfortable in his own skin, but now looking at himself and knowing he should be trying to impress… Well he always knew he wasn’t, exactly, the type of man most would go for but there was only so much one could do.

He straightened his spine a bit and gave himself a curt nod. “Nothing to do about it now, old chap.” There wasn’t like either him or Prince Crowley had much choice in the matter. Aziraphale figured his betrothed would just have to buck up and accept their reality, he already had, after all.

Aziraphale was surprised to find Prince Crowley already seated in the dining hall and sipping a cup of something warm, steam rising and fogging his glasses slightly. It smelled like breakfast tea.

“Oh! I, er, wasn’t expecting to see you so early, Prince Crowley.” Said Aziraphale as he took in his dining companion. He was dressed casually today in a loose fitting red tunic that was only partially laced up with his long red hair tied back in a messily, showing off the long curve of his neck.

Crowley looked up in his direction and seemed to be in a better mood because he smiled. “Well apparently people talk when I don’t show up for meals.”

Aziraphale took a seat opposite Crowley and began filling a plate with various breakfast foods, for the first time in weeks he actually felt hungry. “I’m terribly sorry about the gossip. It’s been too long since anything exciting has happened, I’m afraid.”

“And I’m considered ‘exciting’?” Asked Crowley as he regarded Aziraphale over the rim of his cup.

Aziraphale felt a blush climbing up his neck. “W-well, to the staff, surely. I could have a word with them if it’s getting to be too much.”

Crowley shook his head and chuckled. “No need. If my eating habits are that interesting let them talk. It does me no harm.”

Aziraphale breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn’t ever actually reprimanded any of the staff and had no idea how, exactly, to go about it. Of course if Prince Crowley had insisted he would have figured it out, but he was glad he didn’t have to. “Well, you will have to let me know if that changes.”

A ‘hm’ was all Aziraphale got back as Crowley took a sip of what ever he was drinking. In the silence that followed Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that Crowley hadn’t touched a single speck of food. The plate in front of him was completely spotless. It was odd, certainly, but perhaps he’d already eaten and the staff had taken away the dirty plate.

Aziraphale was contemplating the merits and drawbacks of just asking Crowley outright about his ‘eating habits’ when the doors to the hall swung open with a bang and King Gabriel strolled through talking animatedly with one of his personal staff who was writing as quickly as he could.

“And you _did_ get all of that, yes?” Gabriel asked, staring down his nose at the smaller man.

“Y-yes, Your Grace. Every word.”

Gabriel clapped a hand onto his shoulder and grinned. “Good! Now see to it that everything gets sent off immediately.”

When he turns and sees the both of them sitting there, together, it’s an obvious struggle to keep from looking surprised. “Prince Crowley, Aziraphale, I am… delighted to see the both of you this morning.” Gabriel said even as he strained a smile.

Aziraphale struggled to smile back and Crowley just nodded and continued to sip at his tea. “Good morning, Brother. I thought you usually took breakfast much earlier than this?” Aziraphale said while also debating whether it would be worth it to serve himself seconds.

“Normally, yes.” Said the king as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Unfortunately there were a few things that required my attention first thing this morning. Not that you would understand such things, Aziraphale. Though I’m certain Prince Crowley here knows all about it.”

Crowley seemed surprised that he’d actually been included in the conversation and struggled to swallow fast enough to respond. “Er, yeah. Something like that. Early morning duties, blegh.”

Gabriel seemed pleased by this response and Aziraphale stared down at his plate.

‘Of course,’ thought Aziraphale. ‘Crowley is the _crown prince_, next in line for the Gehenna throne. It is likely he has many duties to attend to on the regular, probably has more in common with Gabriel than a nobody prince like myself.’

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but Aziraphale doesn’t even know anything about his soon-to-be husband. It’s entirely likely Crowley is very similar to his brother indeed.

But even as that thought worms it’s way into his mind, Aziraphale knows it’s just his nerves speaking. So far Prince Crowley has shown no signs of being anywhere near as… uptight as Gabriel. Besides, they have a year to get to know each other and today he can begin making headway into learning about Crowley. Likes, dislikes, hobbies; all should be safe subjects.

Aziraphale watches Gabriel try and make small talk with their guest. Asking about what he thinks of the palace and city thus far and if his rooms have been acceptable. Crowley responds positively, if a bit stilted to the various questions and Aziraphale can’t tell if he just doesn’t want to talk or if he’s _trying_ to annoy Gabriel.

Because if he is, it’s working.

With every deflected question Aziraphale can see Gabriel’s fist clench in the table cloth and his eye twitch just slightly. It’s fascinating to watch someone so thoroughly annoy his brother and know that no matter how angry Gabriel might be getting, he just has to put up with it.

At first he can’t quite parse out if Crowley is doing it on purpose, or if it’s accidental. Then Gabriel finally gives up and focuses on finishing his food, it’s then that Aziraphale sees, and only because he was looking for it, that one end of Crowley’s mouth twitched upwards like someone who’s just gotten away with something quite dangerous.

Aziraphale has to fight back his own smirk, but it’s just so satisfying to bare witness to Gabriel having to play nice for once.

The rest of breakfast is quiet and subdued and if Gabriel noticed Crwoley lack of food, he doesn’t comment.

As they stand to leave Aziraphale hangs back to wait for Crowley while Gabriel forges on ahead. “That was quite bold of you, how ever did you know blowing off his questions would incense my brother so?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley grinned impishly. “Well-”

“Are you coming, Prince Crowley?”

They both look up, startled, at Gabriel standing in the door way with his arms crossed and tapping his foot.

“Er… Yeah. Just, you know, conversing.” Says Crowley, scowling openly at the king.

Gabriel sighs. “Well, make it quick. We have a lot to go over and I plan on being done before dinner.”

Thrown for a bit of a loop, Aziraphale blinks confusedly at his brother. “I’m sorry, Gabriel, but if I’m hearing correctly, it sounds like you plan on keeping Prince Crowley busy today.”

His brother throws him an exasperated look. “Of course I do. King Lucifer has left it up to the prince to work with me to finalize the trade treaties. I would like that to be done sooner rather than later.”

Well that definitely puts a snag in his plan. “But er-”

“I already promised Aziraphale my time today. Can’t this wait, your Majesty?”

Hearing that from Crowley sends a tendril warmth through Aziraphale. If he didn’t know any better it almost sounded like Crowley _wanted_ to spend time with him!

Unfortunately Gabriel shakes his head. “The sooner we get this done the better. There will be plenty of time for… fraternizing… later.”

Crowley makes like he is going to argue then seems to think better of it. “Yeah, alright, fine. Just… gimme a minute would ya?”

Gabriel smiles tightly. “Of course.” Then makes his leave.

“Ssorry, Aziraphale. Didn’t realize Gabriel wanted to start today.” Crowley said, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking frustrated.

Aziraphale waved his hands and shook his head. “It’s no fault of yours, truly. He springs things on me out of the blue all of the time. I’m actually surprised he didn’t do this sooner.”

That seemed to placate Crowley somewhat and he relaxed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers that were definitely too small to fit them. “Right, well, aahh...”

“I know Gabriel can be quite… long-winded but he does try to keep a schedule. I assume he will want to be done around noon so he has time to train in the practice yard. We could lunch in the gardens, if you still want to that is.” Aziraphale didn’t want to offer Crowley a way out, but it was the polite thing to do and besides he knew dealing with his brother for extended periods of time was an exhausting experience.

Crowley smiled softly. “Yes I… I think I would like that.”

Aziraphale watched him go with no small amount of satisfaction. There might have been a small snag thrown in his original plans, but he’d successfully overcome it and his betrothed seemed pleased. So far, today was a success. Now he just had to keep that up.

Not to mention watching the way Crowley’s hips swayed as he walked away was bordering on hypnotic. He had to remind himself to keep focused on the task at hand, it wouldn’t do to go getting distracted over how very attractive the man he was to marry was.

First order of business was securing lunch for later. He still didn’t know what Crowley liked to eat, not having seen him take a single bite thus far, but he was leaning towards a light and cool spread. The heat of summer was already creeping in and, if Crowley’s reactions to his brother were anything to go by, it was likely he wouldn’t have much of an appetite after being stuck in a room with Gabriel for hours.

Aziraphale stopped the first kitchen staff he saw and informed them to prepare cold sandwiches, sliced fruit platters, and chilled lemonade to be delivered to the gardens at lunch. Light, simple, cool.

He then picked a spot near the pond. There was a table and chairs under a gazebo that, while isolated enough to afford them a modicum of privacy, was in sight of enough windows and balconys to reduce the possibility of indecorous gossip.

With that squared away Aziraphale still had most of the morning to wait. He stopped by his rooms to grab a book, or two or three, and made his way to the gardens. He figured if he was already there when Gabriel released Crowley, he couldn’t possibly be late or get so distracted he forgot. It was a fool-proof plan.

At least, it should have been a fool-proof plan.

Noon came and went with no sign of Crowley or his brother at all. Lunch was delivered and Aziraphale put off eating it for as long as he could, hoping Crowley would show.

It was three hours past lunch when Crowley finally arrived. The sandwiches had long gone off, all the ice in the lemonade was now water, and Aziraphale had nibbled a large chunk of the fruit just to keep his stomach from complaining. He’s been about to pack up his books and head back inside to re-figure out how he could salvage this when Crowley came skirting around a hedge and almost tripped over his own feet to fall in the pond.

He was able to right himself with just the heel of one shoe in the water, spooking a family of ducks in the process, before stumbling to where Aziraphale was seated. Crowley threw himself into the opposite chair and groaned out, “Fuck I’m so sorry,” as he buried his face in his hands.

It was all Aziraphale could do not to laugh at the spectacle of it.

“That’s quite alright.” Aziraphale said. “I assume Gabriel put you through the ringer?” He was still struggling not to smile at Crowley’s obvious distress.

Crowley groaned an affirmative into his hands, snaking his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I tried leaving hours ago but he just wouldn’t shut up! Doesn’t he know these things can’t just be hashed out in a single sitting? He’s torturing me. Has to be. Probably gets a kick out of being difficult.”

Aziraphale folded his hands on the table and failed at fighting back a giggle. “I’m so sorry, I’m not laughing at your distress, but it’s not everyday someone comes and complains to me about my own brother.”

With another dramatic groan Crowley dragged his hands down his face and flopped chest first onto the table between them.

Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale reached out and gave Crowley a tentative pat on the shoulder. “There there. All over now, isn’t it?”

“Gotta do it all over tomorrow.” Crowley groaned.

“Ah. Well I suppose we will just have to make the most of what we have left of today then.”

Crowley slowly lifted his head. “Yeah?” The drop of hope in his voice was impossible to mistake.

“Of course!” Said Aziraphale. “I’m the one who suggested this without even checking that nothing else was going on. I take full responsibility for, well-” He gestured to the spoiled and melted food between them.

Crowley forced himself up and his face went through a complicated series of expressions that was impossible for Aziraphale to puzzle out with his glasses in the way. “You know you don’t _have_ to, right? S’ not that big a deal.”

Aziraphale frowned and folded his hands primly. “Yes well, perhaps we will have to agree to disagree on that.” He warred with himself internally for a moment, but the desire to make amends won out. “Which brings me to my next topic. I know you said not to bring it up-”

“Then don’t.”

“-but I really must insist-”

“Prefer it if you didn’t.”

“I _do_ apologize. Truly.”

Crowley groaned once more, folded his arms on the table as he slumped forward, and set his chin on top of them before throwing him a scowl. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Well I would prefer _not_ to go into a marriage with hard feelings, you understand.”

“There’s no ‘hard feelings’ just… forget about it. Better to leave what happened in the past to the past, yeah?”

Aziraphale found he didn’t quite agree with that particular sentiment, but some progress was better than no progress. “Right. Well, if you insist...”

“I do.”

Aziraphale let the topic drop. He was well versed in the art of ‘picking ones battles’ and this was one that could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens, I know, but this chapter sets us up for the next few which I've been wanting to get to for a while now. Ya'll can look forward to some cute dates and an eventual wedding 👀
> 
> The fancy line-break is my art! Do not use without permission!
> 
> If you wanna chat or just yell at me or whatever, you can find me at theladydrgn@tumblr


	6. Beneath Green Canopies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is thirsty and a date is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams up in here* Despite quarantine I'm still slow af but at least this one is twice the length of last chapter! Enjoy~

The next few days followed a very similar pattern as the last. Aziraphale would get a few minutes to speak to Crowley at breakfast, Gabriel would drag Crowley off to negotiate, then it would be late in the afternoon before Aziraphale saw him again. If he didn’t know any better he would think his brother was monopolizing Crowley’s time on purpose, but from the little interaction between them that Aziraphale witnessed himself it was obvious neither man was very fond of the other. Not to mention Prince Crowley’s near constant grouching any time Gabriel was mentioned.

The copious amounts of alone time did give him a chance to return to The Royal Library once the thought of going out no longer made his head spin. It wasn’t even about sussing out any hidden secrets of Crowley’s anymore, he just wanted more information on the kingdom he would be living in soon enough.

Unfortunately The Royal Library had nothing of value either. All he could find, even with the help of the librarian, were histories similar to what he already had and the occasional… erotic novel that obviously had zero basis in reality. He discreetly checked a few of them out, just in case.

This wouldn’t really be a problem if any and all attempts to ask Crowley about his kingdom didn’t make the other prince clam up and evasive. In fact, Aziraphale had come to realize, it was a sure-fire way to get Crowley to not say a single word for the rest of the afternoon.

Which was not ideal, to say the least.

He didn’t want Crowley quiet and sullen. They were suppose to be getting married! They should be learning to communicate and understand each other, not poorly dancing around important conversations. Crowley would be King of Gehenna one day and Aziraphale his spouse! He needed to know how their economy worked, what the education was like, the political climate, what their biggest imports and exports were!

At least, he assumed he did.

In Elysium the King or Queen Consort assisted the ruling monarch on matters of state, acted as monarch if their spouse was away, and in general worked to lessen the royal responsibilities. They were practically necessary. The only reason Gabriel hadn’t wed yet was because he had the rest of their siblings to assist him.

He supposed Gehenna could work differently. Not that he would ever know if Crowley wouldn’t actually tell him. Even so, he still felt distinctly uncomfortable at the idea of being completely useless.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, however. He figured he would try a few more times with Crowley, and if that continued being unfruitful, suck up his pride and ask Gabriel. He really didn’t want to ask Gabriel.

As it was, it was just after breakfast and Aziraphale was preparing to head into town and stop by his preferred tailor, his favorite coat was beginning to get a bit tight and would need altering, when he was interrupted by Newton knocking and peeking his head in when given the go-ahead.

“Is everything alright, dear boy?”Aziraphale asked.

Newt nodded slowly but seemed apprehensive. “Yeah uh, Prince Crowley is asking for you.”

“Asking for – Are you sure? I wasn’t expecting him to be free until much later.” It wasn’t even lunch time yet! Crowley should still have been in negations with Gabriel.

Newton just shrugged. “I mean, kinda hard to mistake him. Tall, dark, grumpy, bit scary.”

“That… does sound like Prince Crowley….” Aziraphale nodded. “Well, was there a message of some sort?”

“Not really… Just wanted you to meet him out in the courtyard.”

Crowley was, apparently, being evasive with the staff. Not that that was unusual. Newt had already told him about how annoyed most of the palace staff were with him. Brushing them off, refusing any entry to his rooms except by his own people, leaving his dinner cold and uneaten for the morning shift to pick up. He was a source of constant frustration to a large majority of the serving men and women of the palace.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well I suppose I best make sure things are alright. You said he was grumpy, did he seem angry or...”

“Oh! No, not really, just the usual level of ‘go away don’t talk to me’.”

Well, that was a relief.

Aziraphale did a quick double check in the mirror to make sure he looked put together enough. His hair was, of course, it’s usual level of wild curls and taming that was a trial of futility. He changed out his cream bow-tie for a blue and tan tartan one and gave his waistcoat an experimental tug. It would have to do. Satisfied he didn’t look a complete slob, Aziraphale made the trek to the front courtyard where Crowley had originally arrived.

The day was clear and nice, not nearly as warm as the last few had been. Summer was steadily approaching, but it would seem spring had decided to give them a small reprieve to the oppressive heat. Aziraphale was glad of it.

To his surprise, the courtyard was empty. No sign of tall, dark, grumpy princes to be found. Aziraphale frowned and gave a small huff. Could Crowley or Newton have been messing with him?

His answer was quickly forthcoming with the sound of clopping hooves.

Aziraphale turned in the direction of the stables, their doors flung open wide, at the sound.

And out rode Prince Crowley mounted atop a great beast of a black steed. He grinned when he spotted Aziraphale and spurred the creature to a faster pace.

“Hullo, Aziraphale,” Crowley said once he’d gotten close enough.

Aziraphale could do little but gape up him. Crowley looked completely at ease riding the great monstrosity even as it’s nostrils flared and ears and tail flicked in annoyance. The horse, if it could be called one, had to be at least twenty hands tall and it towered above Aziraphale, making him have to strain his neck to even see Crowley.

Crowley’s grin only seemed to grow wider at Aziraphale’s silence. “Fancy a ride?”

“A-a ride!? On-on that… that?” Aziraphale stuttered. He wasn’t going to call the horse a monster out load in front of Crowley, no he’d learned that lesson.

He threw his head back and laughed. “Noooo,” Crowley said, dragging out the word needlessly. “Wouldn’t expect you to ride Bentley. She’d be more likely to bite than anything.” He was still chuckling as he patted her neck affectionately. “I’m about the only person she’s willing to tolerate.”

“O-oh...” Aziraphale was quite at a loss for words. Not only was ‘Bentley’ quite intimidating but the angle, the confidence, the height; it all made for a stunning picture. Crowley looked every bit a prince and future king. He handled the creature with sure hands, his smile was bright and open, he even had a small red cape draped over one shoulder while his long hair spilled over the other. Aziraphale found that, along side his lack of words, his mouth had gone inexplicably dry.

“There’s a whole stable full of horses back there,” Crowley said and motioned with his head. “I’m sure there’s at least one that would suit you.”

Aziraphale struggled to swallow and respond. “Y-yes. We have quite a few.”

“Well, go pick one then! Only got so much daylight and there’s a whole forest to explore.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, finally coming out of his mild daze. “But… what about Gabriel? Surely he will be expecting you, probably already is.”

Crowley leaned down so far it was a wonder he didn’t lose his balance and fall right off. “Ya see, that’s the thing, guess he finally got tired of arguing with me. I showed up, ready for another day wasted trying to make him see sense, and right out of the gate he says I have a point and know my kingdom better than he does and signs the treaty.”

“He listened to you?” Aziraphale whispered, mouth going slack.

“Yup,” he said, giving the ‘p’ a small pop and settling back into his saddle. “Took a few days of beating him over the head with it, but I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle, especially at the cocky grin Crowley had thrown on. This was, perhaps, the happiest he had seen his betrothed thus far. “Well, in that case, I suppose a ride out wouldn’t be too much of a hardship for me.”

“Hoped you’d say that!” Crowley exclaimed, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the blush rising in his cheeks at Crowley’s pleased look. “Go on then, I’ll wait for you here. Need to give Bentley a bit of a warm-up anyway.” Crowley encouraged his mount back into movement, guiding her to trot around the courtyards perimeter a few times.

Now that he had gotten somewhat use to the horse that was about twice the size of any other he’d ever seen, Aziraphale could actually appreciate how graceful Bentley was despite her great size. And she was obviously very well taken care of. Her black coat shiny and mane and tail braided intricately. Crowley certainly didn’t have the time to do all that himself, and Aziraphale found himself feeling bad for the staff who had to take care of her, if she was a bitey as Crowley claimed.

Finding and tacking an appropriate horse was not difficult. Aziraphale and his siblings each had a steed that was ‘theirs’, though Aziraphale himself rarely rode. He liked riding, of course, but going out alone was never as fun and it wasn’t as if he was ever invited to tag along with the others. Gabriel and Sandalphon preferred the thrill of hunting, Michael only ever rode when accompanying a royal guard, and Uriel often reserved her outings for spending time with her fiance.

Aziraphale still tried to maintain his own horse, even if he didn’t ride him often. Soho was an older gelding, raised and bred on palace grounds. He snorted against Aziraphale’s cheek.

“Hello, dear boy. Been a while hasn’t it? Hope you’re up for a bit of exercise today?”

He wasn’t as steady on the back of Soho as he would have liked, but Aziraphale was determined not to make a fool of himself in front of his betrothed. He wasn’t sure he would live down the embarrassment if Crowley thought he couldn’t ride a horse.

They left the stables, Aziraphale giving Soho gentle nudges to his flanks. Apparently Crowley had decided Bentley was sufficiently ‘warmed up’ because they were no longer circling the courtyard. Instead Crowley was leaned over Bentley's neck, whispering something to her and tapping the top of her head every few seconds as if she could actually understand him.

“Are you talking to your horse?” Aziraphale called out as he approached.

Crowley jolted upright, a blush creeping its way up from beneath his collar. “What if I am, eh? She’s a good listener.”

Aziraphale chuckled and maneuvered his way next to Crowley. “I’m sure she is, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t have the wrong impression. It was – oh dear.” His horse seemed to refuse to stay next to Crowley’s and sidestepped away even as Aziraphale tried to direct him otherwise. “Come on now old boy, none of that” He grouched.

“Don’t blame him.” Crowley said a little sheepishly. “Probably my fault. Most animals don’t like me much.” He was staring down at his hands, refusing to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, and rubbing his thumbs over the reins he held.

It came as a shock to Aziraphale, who had been trying to get Crowley to say even a single thing about himself for days now. “O-oh? Well, I suppose that’s alright then.”

Crowley’s head shot up, as if expecting Aziraphale to have said something different. His face went through a complicated series of expressions before firmly settling on something approaching neutral. “Right. Well, shall we then?”

Aziraphale nodded his assent and spurred his horse on to follow after his companion.

Aziraphale was honestly surprised that Crowley actually seemed to know where he was going. He’d expected to have to give directions the other prince, but Crowley expertly lead them to a well tread path that lead into the forest behind the palace and showed no hesitation when presented with a fork or diverging path. If Crowley had a specific destination in mind, Aziraphale did not know it. He’d been silent for most of the trek and while the paths were wide enough to ride side by side, Aziraphale’s gelding absolutely refused to get within a few feet of Crowley and Bentley.

Not that Aziraphale was complaining, not out loud anyway. He had a lovely view of Crowley’s arse and back at this angle and how rhythmically his hips rolled with the stride of his horse. It was… distracting. Incredibly so.

He was lucky his horse was well trained and needed little guidance to stay on the path, regardless of how wary of Crowley he was.

Aziraphale, on more than one occasion, had to mentally chide and shake himself. It was highly inappropriate to be… ogling someone. Even someone has handsome as Prince Crowley. Even if they were engaged to be wed. Definitely not something a prince of his standing should be doing.

He was in the middle of one such admonishment when his horse stopped abruptly. Aziraphale looked up quickly, realizing he hadn’t been paying the slightest attention to what was going on. Crowley and Bentley were stopped in the middle of the path. Crowley with a frown on his face and eyebrows furrowed above his ever present glasses.

“Alright back there?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had to fight back the beginnings of an embarrassing blush. “Y-yes! I’m just fine, tickety-boo, in fact!”

Crowley’s frown only seemed to deepen. “Sure about that? Think I lost you there for a minute.”

That he hadn’t been caught actively staring was, perhaps, his saving grace. “Oh, er, l-lost in thought, I suppose...” Aziraphale trailed off, hoping to any gods that might be listening that Crowley didn’t pry.

The look on Crowley's face said he wasn’t convinced. “Right… Well, try not to get too lost, eh? Almost there, anyway.” Crowley said and wheeled Bentley around to continue.

Aziraphale’s relief that Crowley doesn’t press the issue was overshadowed by his sudden curiosity. Did Crowley really have a destination in mind for this little adventure? “There? There where, exactly?”

Crowley threw a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “Now that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

They rode for another half hour and Aziraphale was just beginning to wonder if Crowley might be lost, after all it’s not like he _knows_ these forests. The path they were following long turned from a well traveled dirt and stone path into a long over grown, barely used hunting trail. Probably used more often by deer than people, the tall grass and trees closing in and pulling at his clothes.

He was about ask Crowley if he even knew where he was, because honestly this was getting ridiculous, when the prince pulls Bentley to a stop and puts his hand up signaling Aziraphale to stop as well. He needn't bother really, Soho had not warmed up to him in the slightest and refused to budge a single step nearer.

Crowley dismounted and for the first time today actually looked nervous. “Best to lead ‘em by foot from here, I think. Not to far now.”

Aziraphale frowned. This was deeper in the forest than he had ever gone before, though that isn’t really saying much. He still follows Crowley’s lead, however, and dismounts.

The thick canopy of trees blots out most of the sun and it’s significantly cooler here than up at the palace. Aziraphale finds himself wishing for thicker clothes. If Crowley is affected by the cooler temperatures, he doesn’t let on, just weaves a winding path between thick oaks, tall pines, and overgrown bushes.

Though the idea that Crowley has gotten them lost doesn’t abate. Especially once he starts muttering and doubling back on himself. Honestly, Aziraphale really should have known better then to trust Crowley to know where he was going, why he did so in the first place is a mystery.

“Are you sure you-”

“Ah-ha! There! Come on!” Crowley whoops and rushes forward like an excited puppy, dragging a long suffering Bentley by the reigns.

Aziraphale stuffs back a sigh and follows after. Unfortunately Crowley is much quicker and sure footed than Aziraphale. All it takes for Aziraphale to lose sight of him is a small distraction, a bramble catching in his coat. He pauses to look back and tug himself free and when he looks up again, Crowley and Bentley are gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale calls. He knows the general direction his companion was headed, but as he pushes past a bush, there is just more green forest. No black steed nor black and red prince to be found and neither is their supposed destination.

Oh bother.

Aziraphale stands stock still. Frozen in panic for a moment. He doesn’t know these woods, hasn’t set foot in them since he was a small child. Why wasn’t he paying better attention instead of allowing himself to get distracted? Why hadn’t he spoken up sooner? Insisted on no surprises?

A startled snort from Soho has him stepping back to the horses side. He gently pets his soft nose in an effort to sooth not only his mount but himself as well. Surely if he stays where they are and waits, Crowley will return for him. He must have noticed Aziraphale’s absence by now?

Aziraphale tries desperately not to think of how he’d been in a very similar situation before. Tries not to remember the fear of wondering if he would ever be found or lost among the trees forever. Endeavors to forget the dark closing in around him and the cold chilling his bones as he waited for rescue.

He fails, of course. Every rustle of leaves and dancing shadow reminds him of the last time he was lost.

It’s no surprise then, when Soho begins to fidget and his ears lay flat to his head, that Aziraphale gets twitchy too. He knows, generally, that animals are more sensitive to the acute shifting of the world around them. More alert.

“H-hello?” Aziraphale called out. The surrounding forest silent save for the occasional flutter of wings or rustle of leaves in the wind.

The snap of a twig nearby sends Aziraphale’s heart racing. Soho twitches and snorts and attempts to step back but Aziraphale holds tight to his reigns. Aziraphale looks around wildly, but the foliage is to thick to see anything through.

He steels himself. “C-Crowley? Is that you?” He tries to raise his voice a little more, perhaps break through the thick leaves and reach his companion.

Soho’s agitation only grows and he tugs harder on the reigns in Aziraphale’s hands. Aziraphale tugs back, gently. “It’s quite alright, dear boy.” But his attempts to soothe seem to be falling on deaf equine ears.

Another snap and rustling of the nearby bushes has Aziraphale’s heart pounding in his ears. There had always been wild animals here, wolves and wild boar and the like, in a forest this size you couldn’t _not_ have wild animals.

Aziraphale really wished for his sword right now.

The thick leaves before him part, but Aziraphale’s attention is abruptly turned elsewhere. Soho belts out a shrill whinny and rears back taking Aziraphale, who is still holding the reigns in a death-grip, with him.

Aziraphale fights to keep control of his horse but the poor thing is thrashing and the grass beneath his feet is moist. His feet slip right out from under him. Aziraphale yelps as he falls, landing hard on his backside, and Soho’s hooves are right above his head.

_Oh._ He thinks. _That’s going to hurt_. He clenches his eyes shut, preparing for impact.

A guttural growl erupts from behind him followed by what he can only assume is a foreign language. Aziraphale refuses to open his eyes. Whatever is happening is beyond his control now.

Aziraphale flinches when strong hands grasp his shoulders and haul him backwards. “Just can’t stay out of trouble can ya?”

Oh! He knows that voice. “C-crowley?” Aziraphale’s eyes fly open as Crowley pulls him to his feet.

Crowley’s thin hand is outstretched over Aziraphale’s left shoulder towards Soho. His fingers curled in a way that resembles a claw and Soho…

Soho is still as stone before him, hooves in the air, ears folded back, and eyes wide with terror.

“Crowley, what-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his question because Crowley is pulling him back farther away from his unmoving horse. “Come on. Can’t hold this forever.” Crowley breathes harshly against his ear.

The fingers on Crowley’s outstretched hand tremble with tightly controlled effort and Aziraphale allows himself to be guided backwards.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley's fingers straighten and relax then slump downward. Crowley is gasping behind him, as if he’d just finished a long run. He attention is abruptly snapped back to Soho. The poor thing lands with a snort and a whinny and wastes no time in bolting off between the trees.

There is a tense moment where Aziraphale doesn’t know if he should ask what in the world just happened or if he should just be thankful no one was hurt.

Crowley’s grip on his shoulder and extended arm disappears and Aziraphale hears him move away. But he can’t turn around, can’t say a single word, because Aziraphale is still trying to process what, exactly, he just witnessed.

Soho had been frozen, still as the grave; not a breath nor twitch. Then all at once had come back to himself. It was impossible. It was-

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Crowley said, sounding exhausted and out of breath. “Didn’t mean to run off and lose track of you.”

“It-its’s quite alright.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what else he could say. His mind still reeling with what he just saw, there was only on explanation for it.

Magic.

It was strictly outlawed in Elysium, had been for centuries. There were rumors, of course, of isolated villages and communities where practitioners still practiced. Those were just rumors though, superstitious nonsense you told to young children to keep them from venturing to far from home. And not to mention the histories Aziraphale had just recently come to realize were full of falsehoods, he’d just assumed the ‘miraculous’ feats Gehenna soldiers were described doing were exaggerations.

Apparently not.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale jumps, startled out of his own racing mind. Prince Crowley is leaning down, inches from his face.

“Alright there?” Crowley’s voice is soft and his brown furrowed in concern.

Aziraphale flinches back. “Y-yes. Quite alright. No need to worry. Just, ah, bit spooked, I suppose.”

Crowley doesn’t look convinced, but he straightens back to his usual height. “Right. Well, I’ll send Bentley off to collect Soho. She should be able to corral him back to us. In the mean time, we can have a bit of a rest up ahead.” Crowley says and motions in the direction he originally disappeared.

Having not seen anything that way when he looked, Aziraphale is unsure, but Crowley gently touches his elbow and guides Aziraphale through the thick underbrush.

Meanwhile Aziraphale’s mind is a whirlwind of thought. Crowley has magic, can _do_ magic! He just witnessed it himself! What else can he do? Do Gabriel and the others know about this? Is it something he should tell Sandalphon? It’s illegal, yes, but he hadn’t _hurt_ anyone. Quite the opposite really. He still feels like he should tell _someone_ just in case…

So lost in his own head, Aziraphale doesn’t even realize when they leave the closed-in space of the forest until he’s squinting into bright daylight.

Crowley grins, pleased as punch and perhaps a little nervous, while Aziraphale takes in their new surroundings. He brought them to a small picturesque meadow filled to the brim with wildflowers of all colors. The grasses came just past their knees with Bentley grazing near the middle.

“Oh Crowley.” Aziraphale said a little breathless. The earlier excitement momentarily forgotten. “Was this your plan all along? To bring me here?”

Crowley chuckled. “Wellll…. Part of it, sure.” He stepped forward and reached out to Aziraphale. “Let me show you the rest?” His voice a little higher, a little hopeful, at the end.

Aziraphale regarded the hand stretched out to him. The same hand that had, seemingly, held a spell in place just moments ago. He knew, then, that he was on the precipice of something monumental. A crossroads that would forever affect their relationship going forward. He could reject Prince Crowley’s hand, his touch, or accept it. The choice was his and there would be no going back from it.

His eyes flicked quickly up to Crowley’s face.

A face that looked pained.

He realized he’d just been standing there. For how long Aziraphale didn’t know, but it must have been too long. Crowley’s face gave a twitch and he began to retract his hand. Aziraphale had to make his choice and make it fast, or his indecision would make it for him.

Before he could try and overthink or worry over it, Aziraphale snatched Prince Crowley’s hand from where it hovered in the air. Crowley’s fingers were long, elegant, and cool against Aziraphale’s sweaty plump palm.

“Well, lead the way.” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley looked stunned, mouth hanging open. There was a beat of silence that was only broken by a snort from Bentley.

Jolted out of his surprise, Crowley snapped his mouth shut. “Nmmf. Yeah. ‘Course.” Crowley turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of his horse, dragging Aziraphale along with him.

Aziraphale had to jog to keep up with Crowley’s long strides. “Could-could you please slow down? You and your ridiculously long legs!”

And Crowley actually did slow down to match Aziraphale’s shorter stride. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s quite alright dear-… Oh.” Aziraphale stared at the sigh before him. Just a few feet from Bentley a blanket was spread out on a clear bit of meadow. The blanket was a silver, white, and blue tartan, the Elysium colors, and in the center was a wicker basket. “Is-is this a..?”

“Picnic.” Crowley confirmed. “The other day, you uh… you said you’d never been on one and so, well, I thought...”

“Oh _Crowley_.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s lovely.” He turned to face him, taking both of his betrothed’s hands in his own. “Thank you.”

“Ngk.. mhmm…eh...” Crowley struggled, his face turning redder with every aborted word. Aziraphale beamed up at him and gave his cold fingers a squeeze.

Sensing Crowley’s mild discomfort, Aziraphale tugged him closer to the blanket. “Well then, show me what you packed, hm?”

That night Aziraphale dreamed of deep green forests of emerald and jade. Towering trees that blocked out all sunlight and thick roots that tripped him up no matter how careful he was. He wandered and wandered between the trees. Lost. Alone. Never finding his way home Never knowing the comfort of a soft bed or warm meal again.

With every step he was both farther from and closer to being found. Mother and Father were looking for him, he knew this. If he just kept moving he’d surely find a rock or path or landmark he recognized. Then he would be home again. The forest couldn’t go on forever… could it?

No. It couldn’t. That was preposterous! Impossible! He had to keep walking.

He didn’t know how long or far he walked. It could have been minutes. Could have been days.

It was dark now, though. What little warmth the thick canopy trapped during the day, dissipated rapidly in the night. But he didn’t stop, couldn't stop because there was something chasing him.

Wait.

Was something chasing him?

Yes! There was something there, in the shadows, right on his heels. Snapping. Snarling. Biting his ankle.

Aziraphale had to run. The shadowed green, beautiful in the daylight, became nightmarish in the dark. Every tree was a twisted face. Every shadow a creature ready to snap him up in it’s jaws.

Unfortunately running had never been Aziraphale’s strong suit and without a light to see where he stepped, he was was just asking for disaster.

He tripped, landing hard on his chest, head slamming into a tree. His vision swam and it was too dark to tell if he was seeing spots or just more shadows. The snarling thing behind him gave a growl and Aziraphale knew he was done for. He tried to curl up into as small a ball as possible. If he didn’t look and made himself as small a target as possible maybe his attacker would just ignore him.

He waited, trembling and scared, on the forest floor for everything to just be over and just when he thought maybe the thing had figured him too much trouble to bother with a much louder, deeper, more terrifying growl shook the air just above his head.

Aziraphale curled tighter and whimpered. Willing the monster away, willing the nightmare to be over. The ‘thump, thump’ of heavy feet near his ear told him it hadn’t worked.

The growl came again and there was a rustling and some snapping of jaws.

And then everything went quiet.

Aziraphale tried to even out his breathing, stay as quiet and still as he could. The air above him shifted again and there was a cold hard something pressed against his cheek.

It snorted and pushed as him gently. Aziraphale allowed himself to be rolled onto his back, perhaps if he played dead, the thing would leave him alone and he could continue trying to get home.

His head hurt so bad. He could smell the coppery tangy blood that dripped from his temple.

The beast gave another snort and nudged his cheek again.

He was going to open his eyes. He didn’t want to, but it was happening regardless.

The forest was still so very dark and his eyes were reluctant to focus. He could just make out a shape hovering above him. Aziraphale blinked his eyes, trying to clear them and the creature hovered closer.

The shape of it blended into the shadows around them and Aziraphale struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to get a look at the thing. He was drifting though. Pulled along a current of deeper calmer sleep.

The last he remembered was the deepest black, the darkest red, and molten gold eyes staring into his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a picnic is had! I have a few more 'dates' planned, so please be looking forward to them!
> 
> The line-break art is mine. Please do not use with out permission!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at 'theladydrgn'


	7. Moonlit Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale meet under the light of the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up! This chapter just so happens to be one half of what I originally planned because things got away from me and these two idiots had a lot to say. This is one half of an almost finished 8k document that's looking like it'll be closer to 10k when it's all done! Though y'all would appreciate getting half now and the second half hot on its heels if the words continue to cooperate!
> 
> Now betaed by the lovely [SylviaW1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991)

Cool moonlight filtered in through sheer curtains casting the room in dark blues and soft greys. Elysium was bright and blindingly shiny during the day, but at night the Silver City softened even as it cut a sharp shape against the dark sky.

Crowley greatly preferred the night over the day, at least while staying in Elysium. At night it was safe to relax, remove his glasses, and not spend so much energy on looking human. It was exhausting but necessary in the light of day where anyone might catch a glimpse of his ‘truer’ nature.

He sat sprawled in the chair at his desk. One long leg thrown over an arm and spine bent in a way that wasn’t entirely possible for someone with the correct number of vertebrae. He tickled his throat with a feather quill, scowling down at the parchment before him. Multiple lines at the top had already been crossed out, including; ‘<strike>Most Gracious King</strike>’, ‘<strike>Dear Father</strike>’, and ‘<strike>King Lucifer of the Great Kingdom of Gehenna</strike>’.

How the bloody fuck was he even supposed to do this? What were the protocols? There had to be some, and he knew if he didn’t get it right he’d never hear the end of it. Crowley was sure that at one point he’d been schooled on how he was supposed to address his royal father in official correspondence, but it wasn’t like anyone had given him a refresher course before shipping him off.

Crowley bit his lower lip, the edge of a fanged tooth just barely visible, before sliding forward much more fluidly than physically possible and laying his head down on the desk.

It also wasn’t like they didn’t already know what was going on. He’d told Anathema of the deal being signed within the hour of returning from his surprise picnic the day before. By now she should have already told his father.

He still had to write this stupid letter though. Have it go through the official channels and be documented. And if he fucked it up it would be immortalized in history for generations to come and laugh at.

Well, more likely for Dagon to yell at him over and bring up at every council meeting for the rest of his miserable life.

Crowley groaned and slumped forward even more, stretching his spine and hips until they popped with a groan.

“Bloody hurts,” he grumbled. And it did hurt, every joint complaining about being forced into an unnatural configuration for too long. Spending weeks in this human form without the chance to spread out and just be.

He made a mental note to go somewhere and give himself some much deserved ‘me’ time the minute he was back home. By then Aziraphale should already have been made aware of… things… and if he had any complaints, well, he would just have to deal with it.

Crowley glanced at one of his open windows. The curtains fluttered in the slight breeze, and the tiny strip of night sky he could see made the discomfort he already felt intensify for a moment before he stamped it back down. He couldn’t shed his human form, not here. If he were seen, caught, this delicate balance would surely be disrupted beyond repair. Then he’d be the ‘Prince Who Failed to Bring Peace’, and that would be a black mark on his record he couldn’t allow.

No, he couldn’t transform, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the night air.

Lurching to his feet Crowley strolled to the tall, floor-to-ceiling window. He brushed the curtains to one side and leaned a hip against the sill. With eyes as sensitive to the light as his, Crowley could easily make out the winding footpaths of the Royal Garden below.

His rooms overlooked the back end of the garden: a small hedge-maze, a fountain with tall angels pouring water from endless pitchers, and a latticework gazebo were in the immediate vicinity. The sound of the water from the fountain was faint but soothing from this distance, and he allowed his eyes to lazily trace the path of the maze, wondering idly if it was a true maze or one of those boring ones with just one single twisting path.

It was the sound of metal ringing against wood that grabbed Crowley from his musings. Far off to the right, past the gardens, towards the back of the palace were the practice grounds. Crowley had, thus far, no reasons to visit such a place, but he could remember Aziraphale pointing it out on the day he’d arrived.

That’s where the sound was coming from.

He leaned a little out the window, narrowing his eyes as the sound rang out again. Who in their right mind would be outside, in the middle of the night, practicing their swordsmanship?

A figure was moving swiftly around a dark shape in the center of the practice grounds and every few moments a thwack or clang could be heard.

Crowley stopped breathing when he caught the barest glimpse of pearly white curls in the moonlight.

He flung himself away from the window. This night suddenly became much more interesting.

Breathing heavily, Aziraphale wiped a stray bead of sweat from his brow. Though the night was significantly cooler than the oppressive heat of day, it was still warm enough to work up a sweat without much effort.

He reset his position in front of the wooden practice dummy, seeing only by the silver light of the moon. Sword gripped firmly, feet apart, knees slightly bent and loose. Aziraphale waited a beat, one breath in, one breath out. Calming, focusing. He lunged, tip of his sword just grazing the chest of the wooden dummy as he stepped to the side, feet dancing across the packed dirt.

The dummy rotated on its oiled stand and Aziraphale struck again, this time grazing its shield before moving on in a whirlwind of movement and steel. Quicker and more agile on his feet than most would assume at first glance.

Having a living partner with which to cross swords would certainly have been more of a challenge, but Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to wake anyone, not that there was anyone with whom to practice who wouldn’t go reporting to his brother on his sleeping habits. Or lack thereof. He didn’t need Gabriel knowing of every minute he was awake or thinking something was wrong. He was a grown adult and could manage his own sleep, thank you very much.

His sword, a comfortable weight in his palm and the fresh night air filling his lungs helped to soothe Aziraphale’s jumbled mind. Out here, he could forget the nightmares that kept him from sleep and the worries which frequently plagued him. Out here, all else fell away except for his training - how to grip the sword, the right angle to strike, when to move his feet. It was a complicated dance that required all his focus and left little room for distraction.

“On your left!”

Aziraphale startled, turning in the direction of the unexpected voice. A voice he knew. Was that-?

Concentration broken, Aziraphale momentarily forgot about the spinning dummy until its sword slapped him in the face. He reeled back and dropped his sword, gasping and clutching his stinging cheek.

“Oh, shit!”

Aziraphale stumbled backwards, just out of range of the dummy. His cheek stung as bad as anything, and he could already tell it was going to bruise.

He swirled around, easily spotting the dark figure rushing towards him from the other side of the yard. And, just as he’d suspected, it was Prince Crowley. Clad in his typical black, but the light of the moon made his clothes look almost dark blue.

Crowley dashed towards him. “Shit, shit, shit-! Are you okay!?”

Aziraphale glared and marched towards him. “Of course I’m okay! What in the world are you doing out here!?”

Stopping short, Crowley scratched the back of his head. “Uh… Saw you out here and thought you might want some company?”

Aziraphale stomped right up to him, glared hard into Crowley’s dark glasses, lenses made even darker with the lack of light. “You saw me, alone and obviously busy, and thought I wanted company? You do realise your distraction could have gotten me seriously injured, do you not?”

“S-sorry, I didn’t think-”

“No. You most obviously didn’t. No matter. You’re already here and might as well put yourself to use.” Aziraphale turned on his heel and stalked off to grab his fallen weapon. “Go to the armoury just though there and grab us two practice swords while I put this dummy away,” Aziraphale shouted over his shoulder

Crowley stood there, unmoving. “Wot?”

“Armoury. Practice swords. You want to ‘keep me company,’ then be of use. We are going to spar.” Aziraphale worked on detaching the dummy from its stand for easy moving and storage. He didn’t look to see if Crowley was doing as he instructed until he’d successfully deconstructed the practice dummy and was carrying it back to its trunk.

Crowley was just coming out of the armoury with two blunt practice swords in hand.

He followed Aziraphale, watching silently as he stored the dummy back in its closet with the others and stored his actual sword in its proper place.

“Wonderful,” said Aziraphale, taking the two swords from Crowley and inspecting them to make sure they were, indeed, blunt. He was frustrated at being interrupted and his cheek still smarted, but he didn’t want the possibility of serious injury, not to the prince he was set to marry.

Crowley shifted uneasily on his feet as Aziraphale handed him back one of the swords. “Er, Aziraphale, are you sure you wanna do this?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there a problem?”

“N-no. Just, you know, it’s dark out. Can you even see?”

“You’re one to talk! I don’t know how you see a single thing with those glasses on.” Aziraphale turned and strode to the center of the yard, Crowley still following.

“Fair enough. Just worried about hurting you is all.”

At Aziraphale’s flat look over his shoulder Crowley stuttered and waved his free hand wildly. “Okay, yes, you already got hurt tonight. But I didn’t do that, even if it… might have been kinda-sorta my fault...”

Aziraphale huffed. “I don’t appreciate being underestimated.”

“I’m not under-”

Aziraphale struck, taking a single step forward and thrusting the dull point of his blade at Crowley’s chest. “I know my way around a sword, Prince Crowley.”

“Ngk.” Crowley audibly swallowed then nodded jerkily, his breath speeding up just a tick and his eyebrows visibly rising over his glasses.

“Now. Take a stance three paces away,” Aziraphale instructed, lowering his sword and pulling a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket. “We start when this touches the ground, understand?”

Crowley nodded again and retreated three steps backwards.

Aziraphale noted he didn’t ready a stance at all, just stood there with the sword loosely in his grasp. Well, Aziraphale figured if Crowley didn’t want to prepare himself, or was still underestimating him, this would end quickly indeed.

He rolled his shoulders, loosening them, bent his knees just so and raised both his sword and the handkerchief.

Crowley only cocked his head to the side.

Aziraphale frowned, eyeing Crowley from head to toe. He was difficult to truly make out in the darkness. Even with the minimal light of the moon, it was as if he was made for shadows and slinking about.

He released the handkerchief, gripped his sword more tightly, and breathed. One breath in. One breath out.

The handkerchief fluttered to the ground, and before it even fully settled Aziraphale was moving. Rushing forward two steps he brought his sword up, intending to strike Crowley in the shoulder.

Steel kissing steel rang out across the yard.

Aziraphale stepped back, sword still held aloft. “You didn’t even brace yourself,” he said, noticing that Crowley was still slouched a bit to the side, one long leg holding more weight than the other.

“Should I have?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale could see the cheeky grin, even in the low light.

Aziraphale scowled and shifted to Crowley’s right to try again. This time he aimed for the lower part of his torso.

Crowley shifted with him and blocked it again, chuckling. “You don’t have to go easy on me, you know. I’ve had training, the same as you.”

“I was allowing you a chance to warm up and take this seriously.”

Crowley sighed, rolled his shoulders, and straightened his perpetually slouched back just the tiniest bit. “Fine. Taking it seriously. Better?”

In lieu of responding, Aziraphale launched towards him again, this time delivering three strikes in quick succession. Crowley grunted with each deflected blow, forced to take a few steps back at Aziraphale’s heavy assault. The third hit ended with their swords locked together at the hilt, Aziraphale attempting to push Crowley backwards.

The forced proximity had their breath mingling between them. Crowley’s eyebrows raised above his dark glasses in a way Aziraphale recognized as surprise. This close he could also make out small black scales across Crowley’s cheek bones just below his glasses.

Crowley grinned, sharp teeth glinting white in the darkness. “It might surprise you that I, also, know my way around a sword.” He shoved Aziraphale back with his blade and made an advancement of his own, as quick as his title suggested.

The Serpent, indeed, thought Aziraphale, just barely managing to dance out of the way of Crowley’s singing blade.

With that the fight began in earnest. Trading blows like the ocean traded tides. A push and pull, give and take of a dangerous dance that only they knew. Aziraphale learned that while Crowley was ambidextrous, trading his blade between hands with ease, he favoured his left. Crowley was quick and precise, every offensive blow made with intent, but sloppy with his footwork. He seemed reluctant, or perhaps unable, to control his own center of gravity. Constantly swaying and shifting his weight. The tells made it simple to follow, counter, block.

The ring of their swords filled the yard and Aziraphale allowed himself to relax into it, sharpening his focus on the here and now and allowing all else to fade to the background of his mind. Here, he could forget his royal status, forget his responsibilities, forget about trying to please his family, forget the still throbbing pain in his cheek. Here, his only worries were keeping his footing, gripping the blade correctly, matching his opponent blow for blow.

Aziraphale dodged to the far right and around to Crowley’s back. Crowley was fast, yes, but he also, it seemed, had very little stamina to keep it up. Already tiring and becoming sluggish

Crowley turned, following him just a beat behind, growling and advancing towards Aziraphale.

It was easy enough for Aziraphale to sidestep him again and keep moving, forcing Crowley to turn to keep him in his sights, legs tangling together in order to try and keep up with him.

Aziraphale took his chance and rammed his shoulder into Prince Crowley’s back. Crowley yelped, feet slipping out from under him, and tumbled into the dirt on his belly. He rolled onto his back before the dirt had even begun to settle around him as Aziraphale expected he would. Being prone at all was dangerous, being so on your front was essentially a death sentence in real combat.

The second Crowley was on his back, Aziraphale had the blunt tip of his sword pressed against his throat. Aziraphale’s shadow blocked the light of the moon and casted Crowley in deep darkness.

There was a beat, two, of heavy panting. Each of them caught their breath as the high of combat gradually faded. Aziraphale slowly relaxed his shoulders when it became apparent that Crowley was no longer fighting back. He had won.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered breathlessly, the bob of his throat forcing the blade to dig that much deeper.

Aziraphale startled, eyes zeroing in on the dark outline of Crowley lying in the dirt below. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Look like an angel,” he said again, a little more strongly this time but still out of breath.

Surely flushing from head to toe, Aziraphale stumbled back and removed his sword from Crowley’s neck. “I, that is, well. You must have, er, do you even know what an angel is!?”

Crowley’s only move to get up was to prop himself up on his elbows and grin. “‘Course I do. Big winged buggers with fiery swords and halos.”

“Well there you have it. As you can see, I have and am none of those things.” Aziraphale huffed. He turned and walked swiftly back to the armoury, desperately hoping Crowley hadn’t noticed the blush blooming across his cheeks.

He could hear Crowley scrambling to his feet behind him and walked all the faster.

An angel? Really? It was ludicrous, ridiculous, and yet at the same time being likened to such a thing made his stomach flip with swarms of butterflies. That reaction, in Aziraphale’s perfectly rational opinion, was also ridiculous. He wasn’t an angel, and certainly didn’t look like one. And he would know, he’d seen the illustrations in books of fiction and mythology. Tall, imposing, chiseled, and holding more confidence in their pinky toe than Aziraphale himself had felt in his entire life.

No, he was not an angel. Just a mortal man. An average height, chubby, bookish, nervous man.

Part of Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was making fun of him. Calling him an angel to highlight all the ways Aziraphale was most certainly not. But when he glanced up from storing his practice blade to see Prince Crowley leaning haphazardly against the door of the armoury, brows drawn together, thin lips slightly turned down, and his own sword hanging loosely from his fingers, Aziraphale knew that wasn’t it. Thus far Crowley hadn’t disparaged anything about Aziraphale. Not his weight, his disposition, his hobbies, or his wardrobe. Which was more than could be said of his siblings, each of them having had something negative to say about any number of things Aziraphale said or did or was.

“I assume we’re done for the evening then?” Crowley asked, raising his sword with two fingers hooked around the end of the pommel, offering it point down to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale blushed harder, realizing he’d been caught staring even if Crowley apparently had enough decorum to not mention it. “Y-yes. Thank you for your assistance.”

Crowley rolled his head in a dramatic way that indicated he was probably rolling his eyes as well. “Didn’t really give me much of a choice. Not that I’m complaining, mind.” He really didn’t look like he was complaining with his hip cocked and a grin stretching across his angular face.

Aziraphale wondered if he would ever get his own face back to it’s usual colour at this rate. “Ah, well, regardless I appreciate you, er, indulging me.”

“Bah! Hurry up and put this away, will ya? You’ve got to be exhausted after all that; I know I am.” Crowley scoffed and wiggled the blade with his fingers.

Surprisingly enough, Aziraphale found he was, indeed, tired. A bone deep weariness that only happened after strenuous physical activity. Physically, he’d been ready for sleep for some hours now, only kept up by the insistent whirling of his mind. As was often the case. Anxious thoughts, worries, nightmares - sleep did not come often or easily for Aziraphale. Sometimes, he could soothe his mind via losing himself in a book. Other times writing his woes down on paper, either in poetry or story form, helped to work out what was bothering him. Tonight none of his usual tricks had worked and Aziraphale had been forced into his last resort: practicing his swordplay.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Of course. Here let me-” He took the offered sword, their fingers brushing as he did so. Crowley’s skin, his fingers, were cool to the touch. A little zing zipped up his arm from the there-and-gone-again contact and Aziraphale tried in vain to fight back the rising colour in his face.

He turned quickly to finish putting their things away, hoping Crowley hadn’t noticed how much of a fool Aziraphale was making of himself. Getting flustered from sheer brushes of fingers. It was absurd.

When both weapons had been returned to their proper places, Aziraphale turned back to face Crowley, who was still standing in the doorway of the dark room with his arms crossed; only now he was leaning his shoulder against it at such a steep angle, it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen over.

Crowley cleared his throat, uncrossed his arms, then recrossed them again, and seemed to be preparing to say something. Aziraphale waited patiently despite his mounting exhaustion. His patience was rewarded, eventually, when Crowley cleared his throat a second time and finally spoke. “Would you, er, like an escort? Back to your, you know, rooms, that is.”

Aziraphale stared at him uncomprehending for a moment. Though when he thought he’d figured it out he gasped and flushed red as a tomato, not even trying to hide it. “Prince Crowley! Why I never-! That-that would be quite untoward! Absolutely not!”

Crowley’s shoulder slipped at Aziraphale’s exclamations, almost sending him tumbling to the floor before he recovered. Blush and scales alike unfurled across his cheeks. “Wha-? No! I’m not-! That is-! Ngk. Not what I meant!”

“Then what in the world did you mean!?”

“I meant! It’s dark! Middle of the night! Thought you might appreciate someone making sure you got to your room! ‘M not some, you know, lech.” Crowley bristled, face aflame.

Well, now Aziraphale was blushing for an entirely different reason. “O-oh. Oh, dear.” He twisted his hands together and stared intently at Crowley’s booted feet. “I thought, well-”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Aziraphale chanced a glance at Crowley’s face and flinched at the scowl he saw there. “Quite right. I jumped to conclusions. I apologize.” Why in the world did being around Crowley make him put his foot in his mouth so terribly? So consistently? Aziraphale couldn’t remember a time when he’d misspoke so often or so poorly.

Crowley sighed and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. “No, no, it’s-” He groaned. “I probably could have worded that better. Just forget about it…”

Oh, no. Aziraphale couldn’t have that. It was his fault for making an erroneous assumption in the first place. “That’s not necessary! I would be honored if you escorted me back to my rooms. If I haven’t put you off the idea, that is.”

Crowley’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment then a series of sounds came out that had no connection to any words at all and were entirely made up of consonants. “You don’t have to do that,” Crowley eventually croaked out.

He knew that. Aziraphale knew Crowley wouldn’t push the issue, that he didn’t have to accept. It was just so- “Well, it was very gentlemanly of you to offer.” Aziraphale took a cautious step forward and gently laid his fingers on Crowley’s clothed bicep. Running his fingertips across the intricately embroidered snakes. Crowley’s clothes were still dirty from where he’d fallen amidst their sparring, but Aziraphale found he didn’t mind in the least. “Prince Crowley, it is ever so dark and I would greatly appreciate assistance back to my quarters.”

Another series of intelligible noises erupted from Crowley, blush and black scales rising across his cheeks anew before he finally settled on jerkily nodding his head. “Mmmm-yeah. Sure. Yeah. I can, nygh, do that.”

Aziraphale grinned up at him. Such a reaction had been most unexpected but also incredibly sweet. Though it might be playing a bit unfairly to be acting so coquettish after denying Crowley when he thought his suggestion was inappropriate. Aziraphale toned it down, just a little bit, not wanting to give the poor prince any strange ideas. “Thank you, dear.”

Crowley grunted and turned his head away even as he offered his arm. “Shut up, and let's go already,” he grumbled.

It was impossible for Aziraphale to not find his grumpiness endearing. He threaded his hand around Crowley’s arm, resting it in the offered crook of his elbow. “Lead on, then!”

And Crowley did. Taking the lead and guiding them from the armoury and across the practice field. Aziraphale could just make out the slightest upward tilt of his lips as they strolled under the moonlight.

They made their way through the palace quietly. Now that the excitement had finally worn off, Aziraphale was really feeling the fatigue. He had to consciously fight to keep his head upright and eyes open, to not just lean against Crowley’s side and use his shoulder as a makeshift pillow. It would be incredibly uncouth, but was tempting all the same.

Aziraphale was relieved when they finally arrived at their destination. Crowley stopped them just a few feet from his door, laying his hand on the one Aziraphale had wrapped around his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Well, here you are.”

“Yes. Thank you, and-and I apologize again for… for how harsh I was earlier. I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured as they disentangled.

Aziraphale missed his touch the second it was gone. It had been grounding, comforting, and the slight thrill of it had been the only thing really keeping Aziraphale awake. His eyes drooped as he took a step back.

“Oh, angel...”

A sudden touch to his cheek made Aziraphale jump and a dull throb spike where Crowley’s cool fingers skimmed.

“That’s going to look nasty in the morning.”

Aziraphale winced and grasped Crowley’s wrist. “Yes, and that hurts.” He hadn’t had a chance to see it yet. Though if it looked as bad as Crowley said, he knew he’d need to use copious amounts of make-up to hide it till the bruise faded. No need causing unnecessary questions.

Crowley frowned, brow furrowing above his glasses. “I could... erm… fix it, if you’d like?”

“W-what?” Aziraphale blinked slowly up at him. He was too tired for this. What did Crwoley mean by ‘fix it?’ It was a bruise; it would just have to heal in time on its own.

Crowley made a frustrated noise. “It’s my fault it happened. Let me- Let me heal it for you.”

“You can do that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Not too difficult, really.”

He must have meant magic and something inside Aziraphale thrilled at the prospect of experiencing Crowley’s abilities again. “Y-yes. Yes, I think that would be alright.”

Crowley nodded again. Face twisting in a grimace of concentration. Aziraphale's breath hitched when Crowley’s human veneer slipped for just a moment, a blink-and-you-miss-it flash of reptilian black scales and sharp teeth, then he was human-like again and a tingling sensation was spreading across Azirapahle’s cheek and jaw. Little pins and needles like when one slept on one’s arm or foot for too long.

It wasn’t unpleasant, but it did make Aziraphale gasp and clutch Crowley’s wrist tighter, feeling a scattering of cold scales beneath his fingertips.

Then Crowley let out a breath, shoulders slumping, and the tingling gradually faded.

The dull throb was completely gone and even the swelling he hadn’t realized was happening had receded.

Aziraphale shook his head and slowly released Crowley’s wrist. He’d never experienced such a thing in all his life and was struggling to wrap his mind around the idea that such a speedy recovery from an injury was even possible.

Crowley grasped his hand before it could fully fall, holding it between both of his own. “Get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“I- yes. I definitely think sleep will come easier now,” Aziraphale whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly, he might break this moment they found themselves in. He gazed into dark lenses and found his own wide-eyed expression staring back at him. Crowley’s fingers were degrees colder than his own, but seemed to warm under the lingering contact. 

“Well, goodnight then, angel.” Prince Crowley bent at the waist, lifting Aziraphale’s knuckles to his lips just the same way he’d done the first day he’d arrived.

Aziraphale flushed hot at the combined sight before him and the sound of what was apparently going to become a nickname. He still didn’t think he was an angel, certainly not, but the way Crowley said it, so gentle and warm, made it impossible not to be at least a little flattered.

Crowley lingered like that for longer than was strictly necessary. The chill of his skin in such stark contrast to the heat of his mouth, Aziraphale was sure his heart was going to give out with how hard it was beating.

When Crowley finally released his hand and straightened back up into his usual slouch, Aziraphale had the ridiculous notion to reach out and pull him back. To prolong their contact. To know what that hot mouth might feel like elsewhere. To- oh, good lord. Aziraphale stamped down on that highly inappropriate train of thought right there.

Thinking such things. While alone together. In the middle of the night. Right outside his quarters. “G-goodnight, Prince Crowley.” He needed to end this, before he did or said something improper, before he acted on his thoughts.

Aziraphale quickly turned his head away, unable to look at Crowley just then. Surely his betrothed could see how affected he was. Flushed from the roots of his hair down to his neck and breath ragged.

If he did notice, Crowley didn’t say. Just turned on his heel and left. Aziraphale fought the urge to turn back and watch him for as long as he could, but eventually gave in, eyes automatically drawn to the sway of Crowley’s hips as he sauntered his way down the hall until the night's shadows swallowed him up. Only then did Aziraphale slip into his rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented, subscribed, kudoed, and bookmarked! Y'all give me that much needed serotonin boost every time I get that AO3 email.
> 
> Feel free to give me a shout on [tumblr](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The page-break is my art! Do not use without permission!


	8. A Night at the Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening together and some revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter didn't take nearly as long as the last!
> 
> A big thank you to my lovely beta [SylviaW1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991)

The nickname, angel, was apparently staying.

That morning at breakfast, Aziraphale had choked on his tea when Crowley slithered behind him and whispered in his ear, “Good morning, angel.” His voice had been low and smooth and Aziraphale hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it in… other... settings. Luckily, Michael was his only sibling still eating, and she was happy to ignore them in favour of plotting the guards’ schedules.

Crowley, to Aziraphale’s chagrin, just grinned across the table at him once he took his seat. As was becoming typical by now, Crowley only gave the barest of nibbles to his food and seemed content to not bring up their late night activities.

And Aziraphale was glad for that. The last time Gabriel had heard about his inability to sleep regularly, Aziraphale had spent the entire day listening to his brother lecture him on ‘sleep hygiene.’ Not having tea before bed, not reading before bed, blowing out all his candles early, etcetera. Aziraphale had heard it all, tried it all, and it still changed nothing.

Breakfast did not last long. Aziraphale had already been more than halfway through when Crowley arrived and when he pushed his chair back and stood, Crowley did the same.

“Oh, you don’t have to be done just because I am. Take your time!”

Crowley raised his expressive eyebrows over his glasses. “And what if I _ am _ done?”

Aziraphale glanced back over Crowley’s plate as he made his way to the door, Crowley following on the opposite side of the long table. “You barely touched any of the food! You can’t have possibly eaten enough!”

It made him feel like a mother hen, but Crowley was already skinny enough as it was. Aziraphale didn’t think the poor boy could afford to lose any weight.

Crowley snorted. “Pfft. I had plenty. Stop worrying.”

That wasn’t going to be possible. Crowley had been with them for weeks now, and Aziraphale had hardly seen him eat more than a handful of things. Even on their picnic, Crowley had only taken a few bites of an apple and a single nibble of a sandwich and nothing more.

It was deeply concerning.

Though Aziraphale had to wonder if, perhaps, Crowley’s refusal to eat was cultural in nature? Or perhaps they weren’t providing the kind of food Crowley was used to eating? Were Gehenna cuisine and customs that much different from Elysium’s? Aziraphale didn’t know, and it was really beginning to grate.

He knew they needed to talk about it, but Aziraphale was reluctant to pry too much. Things had been going well between them lately, and he didn’t want to inadvertently insult or push Crowley away. He’d done enough of that already.

Something still had to be done, however. Aziraphale steeled his resolve as the doors to the dining room closed behind them. “Crowley, I-I don’t want to pry, of course not, but I’m, well, I’m a bit worried.”

Crowley frowned, eyebrows knitting together above his glasses. “Worried? Why would you be worried?”

“Well… It’s just-” Aziraphale twisted his hands together, eyes darting around the hall looking everywhere but at Crowley. “It’s just that I know you say you’re getting enough to eat, but it really doesn’t seem like it. Not that I don’t believe you-”

“Aziraphale-”

Not wanting to be interrupted, he continued, “But, er, if there is something you’ve been wanting that we don’t have or a cultural significance we’re missing, I want you to know you can tell me!”

Crowley’s jaw silently hung open long enough that Aziraphale began to wonder if he’d said something insensitive. Apparently, that wasn’t the case because Crowley rapidly shook his head and closed his mouth with an audible _ click _. “No. No that’sss, er, that’s not...” Crowley swiveled his head to look around the hall and Aziraphale followed his gaze, noticing one of the palace staff mopping the floor at one end and slowly making his way in their direction. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Aziraphale was about to protest because, really, whether or not his fiance was eating enough _ was _ something to worry about when Crowley bent closer to him, breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Not something I want to discuss here, angel,” Crowley whispered.

For a moment the close proximity and nickname sent Aziraphale’s heart into a frenzy, but when Crowley’s words finally sunk in, oh, they made quite a lot of sense. It really wasn’t all that long ago that their kingdoms had been violently hostile towards one another. Of course Crowley would want to be cautious.

“R-right. Yes. Of course. My apologies for prying, Prince Crowley.” Aziraphale tried to convey his understanding of the situation with just his eyes as Crowley pulled back. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, but luckily he already had a solution. “Actually, I was, ah, also wondering if you had any particular plans this evening?”

A smirk spread across Crowley’s face. “No. I am at your disposal, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed, fumbled in his pocket to pull out a crisp envelope. “Oh! Well, if that is the case… I received a reminder of a play happening today!” He presented the envelope to Crowley. “The royal family has a permanent private box seat reserved at the theatre, though I’m usually the only one who uses it with any regularity.”

Crowley took the envelope, and Aziraphale tried to fight back the blush on his cheeks when their fingers brushed. Crowley looked over the contents with raised eyebrows. “A play, you said?”

“Yes! The theatre here in the capitol is quite marvelous! And the actors are always top notch! Tonight is opening night, and it’s one of my favourites; I thought it might be nice if you accompanied me.”

The smirk slowly transformed into a gentle smile. “Really are an angel, aren’t you?”

The blush won the fight, creeping from his cheeks down to his neck and up to his ears. “Now really! I don’t think-”

“I’ll go.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale squeaked. “You will?”

Crowley nodded. “Of course. Is there some sort of dress code or anything?”

“Oh, no, not really. I usually just go in my casuals. I’m sure whatever you wear will be perfect.”

“Oh, really? Perfect you say?” Crowley asked while grinning with too many teeth.

Aziraphale flushed scarlet and quickly turned away. “Oh, stop that,” he mumbled, worrying his hands in his waistcoat.

“Mmm, don’t think I will. You’re just too easy to tease.”

“Really now!” Aziraphale fought back the desire to squirm under the intense gaze he could feel despite Crowley’s impenetrably dark glasses.

Crowley chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll let up.” Aziraphale relaxed somewhat as Crowley took a step back. “What time do you need me ready?”

Aziraphale took a moment to straighten his bowtie and collect himself. “The show begins at six this evening. So half an hour before that would be preferred.”

“Sounds good.” Crowley nodded. “I do need to finish writing correspondence to my father. Meet you in the entry hall when it’s time?”

“Yes, that would be lovely!” Aziraphale beamed, proud that he’d actually taken the initiative to make proper plans this time. He hoped Crowley would appreciate the play, it was a fascinating story and one Aziraphale himself had seen many times.

Five thirty on the dot found Aziraphale waiting while rocking on his toes in the palace's ornate entry hall. Dressed in his recently tailored waistcoat, tartan bow tie, and trousers. The bow tie was brand new, Aziraphale had picked it up a few days ago. It was his typical pattern with tan and brown and blue, but he’d had a line of red added to the pattern. If he was to marry Crowley, he needed to start adding his family’s colours to his wardrobe and his tartan seemed the best first step.

He was watching the upper balcony discreetly for Crowley, curious to see what outrageous outfit his fiance would be sporting for their evening.

The wait wasn’t long. Crowley appeared at the top of the stairs, the flash of black catching Aziraphale’s eye. His breath caught in his throat as he began his saunter down, red trimmed slashes in the front of his doublet adding dramatic flares of colour to his chest. Aziraphale’s gaze fell and he knew he was ogling Crowley's swinging hips and long legs, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop and turn his eyes away from clinging high-waisted trousers. They demanded the eye, insisted, really, and was it so wrong to appreciate one’s future husband?

Crowley grinned as he approached. “See something you like, angel?”

Aziraphale jolted and forced himself to look at Crowley’s face instead of the rest of him. Not that the handsome angles were less captivating. “Oh! I, er, you just… look quite dashing.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” Crowley stopped just in front of him and reached out to brush a stray curl from his forehead with the tip of his finger.

Aziraphale felt his mouth go dry at the intimate gesture. How in the world was he supposed to survive tonight? “T-thank you. Shall we, er, get going, then? Wouldn’t want to be late or- or anything.”

Crowley nodded. “Of course not.”

Waiting outside for them was one of their more modest open-top carriages. Crowley helped Aziraphale up into it, the brief contact sending a zing up Aziraphale’s arm and into his racing heart. He didn’t have time to think too much about it before Crowley was climbing into the carriage and taking a seat next to him.

Being seated together like this in public was just shy of thrilling. Aziraphale could feel his heart speeding up in his chest. Yes, they’d been seen out together once before, but this felt more official. More like making a statement.

Arriving at the theatre didn’t take long. It was located just down the main boulevard from the palace. The large white stone building was decorated with paper lanterns on strings and towered above the surrounding businesses. A crowd had already gathered at the entrance; citizens all dressed in fine, brightly coloured outfits mingled and talked amongst themselves.

Their driver passed by the front and stopped at the side of the building near a cordoned off, discreet door. “Private Entry Only” was painted in gold across the top of the doorway and a man dressed in an immaculate green and gold ensemble was standing at attention nearby. The attendant leapt into action the moment they stopped, rushing to remove the dark green rope that blocked the door.

Crowley climbed out of the carriage first and offered his hand to Aziraphale to help him down. “Quite a place,” he said while Aziraphale made sure his waistcoat was properly straight once he was firmly on the ground.

“Oh, yes. The Radiance has been a staple of the city for generations. My family gives patronage here just like they do for the library. It’s a matter of pride for it to look impressive.”

Crowley “hmmed” thoughtfully and offered his arm, which Aziraphale took with no small amount of blushing as they approached the door.

The attendant bowed as he opened it for them. “Your box is ready for you, Your Highness.”

Aziraphale barely noticed. He only had eyes for his companion and was greatly distracted by their close proximity. Crowley smelled faintly of wood-smoke and a cologne Aziraphale couldn’t quite place.

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Mind telling me where to go?” he whispered.

“Oh!” Aziraphale blinked rapidly to clear his head and was thankful for the darkened interior hall to hide his blush. “Right, yes. There are stairs at the far left end of the hall. Our box is on the second floor, box four.”

Crowley followed his directions easily enough, guiding them effortlessly to their destination all while keeping a firm hold of Aziraphale’s hand.

Box four was, in fact, already prepared. Another green and gold clad attendant stood next to the opened curtains, offering a bow as they entered. “Your Highness, I shall be at your disposal this evening. May I offer your usual accommodations?”

“Yes, enough to share, please. Then you are dismissed for the duration.”

The attendant bowed and promptly left.

Aziraphale wiggled in place, quite proud of himself. Crowley had asked for somewhere private to talk and The Radiance was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, the perfect place for it. Once their drinks were delivered, they would not be disturbed for the next four hours. The fact he would get to see his favourite play was a bonus.

He turned to find Crowley already sprawled out in one of the plush chairs. One leg thrown over the arm and head rested in his hand, he looked every bit a future monarch who knew what he could get away with. Aziraphale had to avert his eyes to look out at the slowly filling seats below to keep himself from staring at how his impossibly tight trousers stretched across him.

“You know, I was going to comment on how gentlemanly you were being tonight,” Aziraphale said as he took the seat closest to where Crowley’s head was pillowed on his palm.

Crowley tilted his head far enough to show Aziraphale a cheeky grin. “Did I stop?”

Aziraphale purposefully refused to look at him straight on. “I believe you know exactly what you are doing.”

The grin spread a little farther, Crowley leaned a little closer. “Might do. So tell me about this play.”

“I’m so glad you asked!” said Aziraphale, wiggling excitedly in his seat. “It’s a fictionalization of some very ancient Elysium history. A prince returns home after his father, the king, has died to find his uncle wooing his mother and rumours of foul play. The prince suspects his uncle of regicide and takes it upon himself to investigate. There’s quite a lot of spying and backstabbing, and I won’t spoil the ending for you, but let’s just say things don’t turn out well for anyone involved. It’s quite fun!”

Crowley stared, mouth agape. “Aziraphale, we are royalty and you brought us to see a play about killing monarchs?”

“Oh. Oh, dear.” Aziraphale flushed and nervously twisted his hands in his lap. He hadn’t thought of it quite like that. “I swear I had- There was no intention of- I didn’t mean-”

A bark of laughter stopped Aziraphale in his rambling. Crowley was grinning at him, trying, and failing, to fight back giggles. “You uh, you keep surprising me, angel.”

Aziraphale turned away again. “You, er, aren’t upset?”

Crowley chuckled a little more and shook his head. “Nah. Just impressed by your audacity.”

Aziraphale was prepared to deny it. He really hadn’t connected those particular dots until Crowley had pointed them out, but the thick curtain separating their box from the hall suddenly slid open with a flourish.

Crowley just about jumped out of his seat, straightening up from where he had been lounging and swiveling his head to see who was disturbing them.

The same attendant approached, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. “The Radiance Red, from our own private vineyard.” They placed the glasses on the small table between their chairs, popped the cork, and set the bottle with the glasses. “Is there anything else I can assist with, sirs?”

Aziraphale smiled. “No, thank you. I don’t believe we will need anything else this evening.”

“Very well. Please pull the rope to your right if that should change. Enjoy the show.” They bowed and left again, pulling the curtain closed behind them once more.

Aziraphale stole a glance at Crowley, who was slowly relaxing back into his familiar slouch. “And there you have it. No one will hear or disturb us while we are here.”

Crowley huffed and glanced around. “Quite devious of you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I understand there are some things you don’t want to say around possible evesdroppers. You don’t have to tell me anything, obviously, but I wanted you to have the chance if you… if you wanted to.” Aziraphale finished by twisting his gold signet ring around his pinky, waiting for Crowley’s verdict. When none was forthcoming, he glanced at his companion who seemed to be staring off across the auditorium. So Aziraphale busied himself with pouring the wine for them both and taking a few sips. If Crowley didn’t want to share, he wouldn’t push the issue, but the anticipation and watching Crowley’s long fingers tap rapidly on the arm of his chair was not doing Aziraphale’s anxiety any favours.

Finally, after long minutes of waiting in agonizing silence, Crowley took a deep breath and turned sharply to Aziraphale, twisting almost completely sideways in his chair. “I don’t need to eat. Well, not often anway,” he said without preamble.

Aziraphale could feel the hard stare on him, even from behind his dark glasses, as if Crowley was waiting for some verdict or judgement. He floundered for a moment, wholly unsure of what, exactly, was appropriate to say. “R-really?”

Crowley nodded once, chin digging into his palm, mouth one long horizontal line, and eyebrows furrowed. “One large meal every few months. Can eat more than that, if I want, but it’s not necessary.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t nearly as worrying as Aziraphale had anticipated. He supposed it made sense, at least a little. Crowley wasn’t human and, therefore, wouldn’t have human eating habits. “Then am I correct in assuming you... ‘ate’ before you came here?”

His eyebrows shot up above his glasses almost all the way into his hairline. “Yesss,” Crowley whispered. “And that’s not a problem?”

Aziraphale almost laughed. “A problem!? Dear boy, I was worried you were starving yourself! Not needing to eat as often as we do is the best outcome possible, bar not needing to eat at all.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped and he slowly leaned closer like a flower to the sun. “Oh, you really can’t deny being an angel now,” he said softly.

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Aziraphale grumbled, squirming in his seat and trying not to blush.

“Nope,” Crowley said with a pop. “I’m quite enjoying how flustered it makes you.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You are a menace.”

Crowley opened his mouth, likely to shoot back a retort, but the lights around them dimmed and the ones on the stage flared brighter.

“Oh! It’s starting!” Aziraphale whispered and scooted to the edge of his seat. Crowley followed his gaze and sat up in his chair to get a better look.

The quiet murmuring of the audience below quieted and a man dressed in somber blacks and greys stepped onto the stage from the wings.”Ladies and gents, thank you for attending, and welcome to tonight's performance of ‘The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.' Please enjoy the show.” He bowed to the audience and exited the stage.

Crowley leaned sideways and whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “Tragedy? You didn’t say it was a depressing one.”

“If you recall, I told you ‘things don’t turn out well for anyone involved,’” Aziraphale whispered back and tried not to blush from the close proximity or Crowley’s hot breath on his ear and face.

“Semantics.”

The play began with guards keeping watch on a castle's battlements, discussing their changing shift and a strange apparition that has appeared multiple nights in a row. Aziraphale was glad to see Crowley paying rapt attention, delighted when his eyebrows shot up at the appearance of the king’s ghost.

“Oh, you also didn’t say it was spooky.”

“Is that a problem?” He couldn’t imagine anything truly frightening Crowley, but perhaps he _ should _ have warned him there would be supernatural elements. It was the decent thing to do, after all.

Crowley shook his head, attention seemingly focused on the stage. “Nah. Big spooky fan, me.”

The play continued with Prince Hamlet returning from study abroad for mourning, only to find his queen and mother already engaged to the late king's brother. His _ uncle _.

“Wait, didn’t the king just die? Bit, uh, bit rude to get remarried so quick.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Yes well, that is one of the reasons why young Hamlet is so distraught.”

“Yeah, well, the whole uncle thing is a bit… uncomfortable too. Can’t blame him for not being happy about all this.”

Hamlet, in true dramatic fashion, took center stage when the wedding party had concluded. Left alone in the castle’s throne room, he delivered a heartfelt monologue directly to the audience. The actor this time around was a new one, not one Aziraphale had seen take this particular role before, but he delivered his lines clearly and with such emotion that Aziraphale felt truly swept along with Hamlet's inner turmoil, lost in the prose of it. That is, until Crowley let out a snort next to him.

“Okay, I take back what I said; does he never shut up?”

Aziraphale found himself struggling to fight back chuckles. He hadn’t expected Crowley’s running commentary to be this entertaining. “It’s called a ‘soliloquy.’ It’s a tool playwrights use to give the audience a glimpse into the character's inner thoughts.”

Crowley grunted and slumped in his seat, clearly unimpressed.

More of the supporting cast was steadily introduced: a foreign prince preparing to march on Denmark in revenge for the late King Hamlet for killing his own father, Hamlet’s closest childhood friend, Horatio, as well as the resident love interest, Ophelia, and her family.

Aziraphale heard Crowley make an incredulous noise. “Wait, wait, wait. Who’s this Ophelia woman?”

“Ah! Her and Hamlet have a bit of a... mutual attraction.”

Crowley was silent for a moment. “But I thought him and that Horatio guy were supposed to, you know, be a _ thing _.”

“Oh, good lord, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped between giggles.

Watching and waiting for Crowley’s reactions hadn’t been how Aziraphale thought this evening would go. He wasn’t complaining about it, oh no. It was delightful. Crowley was engaged with the story and the characters and was very vocal about his opinions.

Aziraphale had never had someone with whom to share his love of the theatre. Gabriel and Sandalphon made their opinions on it well known: it was all tripe and drivel to them. Uriel came to see a show occasionally, but she was more interested in the pomp and circumstance of it, never really paying much attention to the story being told. And Michael, well, he didn’t really know her thoughts. She kept them to herself, but she was always so busy with her duties as captain of the guard, it was unlikely she would even have the time for such frivolous nonsense.

Crowley leaned over to him again, still facing towards the stage but obviously ready to impart more of his very lofty opinions of the whole thing while Hamlet soliliquizes once again. “So what I’m getting is: Hamlet is going to use this traveling troupe of performers to put on a play to see if his uncle reacts? Isn't that a bit far-fetched? Don’t tell me this actually happened and worked?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you it was a fictionalization. They had to take some creative liberties.”

“But a play within a play? Really?”

Aziraphale tsked at him. “Pay attention, now. Hamlet’s soliloquies are important.”

Crowley grumbled quietly and drank his wine.

From there things really begin to pick up and Aziraphale notices that Crowley’s sarcastic commentary has started to run dry.

By the time the play is about half over, Crowley is obviously enraptured in the story being told; gasping when secrets are revealed and swearing when Hamlet doesn’t kill his uncle when he has the chance and gasping when Hamlet ends up killing Ophelia’s father who was spying on him and his mother. The lights come back up and the stage curtains slide closed as Hamlet was being shipped off by his uncle in a secret plot to have him killed.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and was almost surprised to find him still staring at the stage, chin propped up on a fist. “Enjoying it thus far?” Aziraphale asked hopefully.

Crowley grunted and frowned. “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale huffed and fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Telling you would be spoiling the plot I should think… If you don’t like it we can always go. Hardly a point in staying if you’re not enjoying yourself.” He didn’t want to leave, though. He’d been enjoying listening to Crowley’s comments, the back and forth of their exchanges, having someone with which to engage over a shared interest. But if Crowley hated it, and wanted to leave, he wouldn’t force him to endure longer than he had already.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Crowley protested, turning to face him and wag a finger in his direction. “We leave now I’ll never know how it ends and it’ll bother me. You’ve got me interested now, even if I prefer the funny ones.”

“Are you sure?”

Crowley scoffed. “Of course I’m sure! I might not get the appeal of telling a story that ends horribly and makes everyone feel depressed, but I can’t deny it’s an interesting narrative.”

Aziraphale allowed himself to relax again, but something Crowley just said had him wondering. “So you don’t like sad stories at all?”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“But they are meaningful and evocative and-”

“And make people depressed.”

“That’s not all they do!”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Really, Crowley!”

“Yes, really! Tell me one good thing it does for people.”

“Easily,” Aziraphale said haughtily. “Engaging with sad and, as you call them, ‘depressing,’ stories allows people to process and experience grief and other difficult emotions in a safe environment.”

Crowley seemed to process that for a moment, one long finger tapping against his bottom lip. “Is that why you like it so much?”

“I beg your pardon!?”

“This-” He waved his hand at the stage. “Tragedy business. Do you like it because it helps you process difficult emotional stuff?”

Aziraphale fidgeted with his sleeves, not making eye contact. Why he liked tragedy was a bit more personal than he’d expected to get this evening. Though, he supposed he owed it to Crowley to be a bit vulnerable. To open up just a smidge. After all, Crowley had offered something secret about himself. It was only fair.

“Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Crowley murmured softly, stilling Aziraphale’s hands with the gentle touch of his cool fingertips. “Full of questions, me. Sometimes they just spill out, you can ignore it, really.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot up, staring into Crowley’s dark glasses. He wished he could see Crowley’s eyes; it would make this so much easier, but he had to tough it out. Be brave. “It’s… it’s not that, exactly. I just… I’ve never told anyone, and no one’s ever asked.”

Crowley nodded and waited patiently while Aziraphale struggled to put the right words together.

“For- for most people, tragedy is cathartic, in a way. It allows them to experience pain and loss and all manner of terrible things without any of the actual repercussions. But, you see, it’s different for me. A bit.” Aziraphale looked away from Crowley again at the end, gazing out over the stage and seats below them.

“Is it?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. Because of the privilege of my birth and position, such things will never strike me the same way it does them. I will never experience true hardship. I can, and have, experienced loss but I will never know what it is like to struggle to eat or put clothes on my back. I might not always get along with my family, but I am sure they love me and would not betray me. Tragedy, in a way, allows me to feel connected to the everyday person and the things they might experience.” Aziraphale sighed and gathered up as much courage as he could before continuing. “I feel so… disconnected from people, and plays and books and _ stories _ give me a way to get that connection. The emotions these stories evoke are the same across time. While watching _ Hamlet _, I am feeling the same thing as everyone in this theatre. We are all connected by our outrage, our surprise, our disgust. And we are all connected to everyone who has ever heard this story across the hundreds of years it has been told by the feelings it stirs in us. So that’s, that’s it, I suppose,” he finished and tried his best not to look as terrified as he felt.

Aziraphale startled when Crowley’s fingers moved from just a slight touch to actually full on holding his hand. “You feel like you don’t connect with people?”

“Not really, no,” Aziraphale said, slowly shaking his head. “I’m sure you understand, as royalty everyone has an idea of how they expect me to be. I’m removed from most people in a way that is exceedingly difficult to overcome.”

“I do understand that, yeah. What about your family, though? Your brothers, sisters - surely they experience the same thing.”

“I suppose they do,” Aziraphale whispered. “If so, they don’t seem nearly as bothered by it as I.” He stole a glance at Crowley, then. Watched as he seemed to struggle. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

The lights dimmed and the curtain opened before Crowley had a chance to gather himself enough to respond. His hand, however, gave Aziraphale’s a gentle squeeze and stayed right where it was. A comforting, cool, grip that kept him grounded. He had never thought he would crave the touch of another so, but found he never wanted Crowley to let go.

Crowley didn’t say nearly as much through the second half, seemingly content with watching how everything played out.Though Aziraphale did miss his sarcastic commentary he was also delighted his fiance had taken such an interest.

The play goes on with Hamlet murdering the friends who were spying on him, Ophelia drowning after losing her mind, and Ophelia’s brother vowing vengeance on Hamlet for their father's death. Ophelia’s brother and Hamlet's uncle hatch a plan to dispatch Hamlet once and for all: a duel! With poisoned sword and wine just to make sure it sticks.

By the time the duel comes, Aziraphale is more interested in Crowley’s reactions than the actual play. He’d never had the chance, before, to watch someone experience _ Hamlet _'s final act for the first time. His outrage at the sheer number of deaths at the very end would have made Aziraphale laugh were it not for the somber atmosphere. And as the foreign prince stood among the dead and dying, obviously not quite sure what he should do now that he had successfully stormed the keep but found no one with whom to fight, the curtains closed and lights came back up.

Aziraphale stood with the rest of the audience, clapping. The curtain opened once more, all the actors on stage bowing and waving. Aziraphale looked to Crowley who was following his lead to stand and show appreciation for the performance.

Crowley threw a grin at him and leaned in. “Alright, I guess it wasn’t all that bad.”

Aziraphale grinned back “Have I turned you on to tragedies, then?”

“Mmmm, I don’t know about that. Think I’d still rather watch something funny, but I wouldn’t be opposed to more depressing plays if it’s with you.”

Aziraphale flushed and quickly averted his eyes back to the stage.

They left the theatre once again arm in arm, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but revel in the closeness. It was almost unthinkable that just a few weeks ago he’d been sick and terrified of the thought of the other prince even being nearby, yet now couldn’t get enough of him. He almost wanted to _ thank _ Gabriel for making this choice. For if it had been his to make, he wouldn’t have this at all. It was only an almost though; he knew his ‘happiness’ in a marriage was not a consideration. This was for the good of their kingdoms, and anything beyond that was merely a bonus.

The ride back to the palace was quiet and companinable. The lamp-lighters had already gone around making sure all the street lamps were glowing brightly, illuminating the cobble streets now that the sun had fully set.

Crowley helped him out of the carriage again when they arrived, and Aziraphale tried not to blush at how gentlemanly he was continuing to be. He felt like he should be getting used to it at this point, but everytime Crowley did something sweet or brushed a hand over his shoulder or elbow it was a struggle not to be affected.

Like now, with Crowley opening the palace doors for him and ushering him through with the barest hint of a touch to his lower back. Aziraphale had to suppress a wiggle of delight. He’d never felt so _ pampered _ before. Sure, he had palace staff to cook and deliver any food he wanted and a personal tailor to make any clothing he desired, but nothing had ever felt quite so _ personal _.

“Well, thank you for indulging me, Crowley.”

He heard Crowley scoff from behind him. “Don’t need to thank me, like it was some hardship to sit and enjoy a performance.”

“Be that as it may, I appreciated it nonetheless.”

Crowley made more nonsensical grumbling as they ascended the stairs in the palace foyer. “Any more plays I need to be made aware of? Some humorous ones maybe?” he asked as they reached the top.

Aziraphale thought for a moment, his fingers tapping and trailing across the wood railing. “No, I don’t think so. The Radiance usually focuses on one performance at a time to allow their actors to really get into the role. So there shouldn’t be anything new for another month or so.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Crowley said with a frown. “Ah, well I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Indeed! Besides, a month isn’t so long. I’m sure we can make the next one!”

Crowley frowned deeper and scratched at his chin. “Hmm, not too sure about the next one. The travel would be a nightmare.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to frown. “What do you mean ‘travel?ʼ We were just there.”

“Eh, hm, well yeah. From here it’s not far. But it’s a three week journey to Gehenna. Wouldn’t even have time to get there and come back if you wanted to see the next performance.”

Aziraphale stared at him, gaping.”W-what? Why would we be in Gehenna?”

“Why would- What do you mean ‘why would we be in Gehenna?’ Why wouldn’t we be? It’s my home.”

“Yes, I know _ that _. I just don’t understand why we would be going there so soon.” He knew it wasn’t uncommon to visit your fiancé's family before actually being married. It was encouraged, even, to get to know everyone, but no one had informed him of an impending trip.

Crowley scowled. “Soon? Right, yeah, sure I guess it is a bit quick. But we didn’t plan on sticking around long after the wedding. I’ve got duties to perform back home, you know.”

Aziraphale almost choked. They hadn’t, thus far, discussed their engagement. Which wasn’t surprising, really. Elysium engagements often lasted a year or more; there was no reason to go bringing it up before all parties were comfortable. “Well, I don’t know why you had to go and bring it up. I assumed we would discuss our… nuptials next year, closer to the ceremony.”

The scowl morphed into a gasp and a wheeze. “Next- next _ year _? Next Aziraphale. We are getting married next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to give me a shout on [tumblr](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The page-break is my art! Do not use without permission!


	9. Unfortunate Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information comes to light and Aziraphale does his best
> 
> A big thank you to my lovely beta [SylviaW1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October was very busy of the fic front, but look! An update. Also, I've plotted out each chapter and unless something is much longer or shorter than I expect we should end at around 20 chapters!

Next week.

_Next week._

“Next week.”

“Uh, yeah. You alright? Look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

Aziraphale attempted to school his face into something more neutral. He was certain he was successful, but the concerned knit of Crowley’s eyebrows above his glasses and severe downturn of his mouth did not lessen.

“I’m not- I don’t- I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale stuttered, hands fluttering between pulling at his waistcoat and fiddling with his sleeves.

He needed- He needed to go. Right now. Aziraphale shuffled backwards, eyes flicking between the floor, the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but at the man he was apparently supposed to be marrying _next week_.

“Don’t know what I- Yes, you do! Something’s obviously wrong. Tell me,” Crowley insisted, matching him step for step, hand reaching out.

He couldn’t- Aziraphale couldn’t do this right now. “Nothing’s wrong! It’s all- It’s all tickety-boo!” Aziraphale scampered away before Crowley decided to come after him, throwing a hasty “goodnight” over his shoulder.

He did not run. No, running was undignified and unbecoming of a prince. But he did walk as swiftly as he could through the palace halls, jumping at every little shadow or noise.

As soon as the door to his rooms was shut and locked up tight with Aziraphale safely behind it, he sagged against the thick wood. Forehead pressed to the door and trying to suppress the shaking of his limbs.

It was too soon. Too fast. He had known Prince Crowley for barely a month. How could anyone be expected to marry someone that quickly? How could _he_ be expected to marry someone that quickly? Even someone as handsome and charming and kind, and- No. Now was not the time to be reminding himself of Prince Crowley’s positive qualities.

He needed to be focused on how to fix this, if it even could be. Needed to talk to Gabriel and work out how this had come about. He couldn’t possibly imagine that it had been Gabriel’s own idea. It went against their traditions; surely his brother and king had argued against it.

Could it have been King Lucifer’s idea, then? Did Gehenna do fast engagements? Crowley certainly wasn’t surprised. How long had he known?

Aziraphale’s thoughts swam as he stumbled away from the door and sat heavily in a nearby chair.

The fact that no one had told him stung the worst. He understood being married off and sent away. He was accustomed to his family’s general disregard for his interests and particularities. But this went beyond both of those things.

A royal marriage was supposed to be a forming of alliances. How could he possibly be expected to live in, if not assist in the running of, another kingdom if he knew nothing about it? Not to mention marital… duties. He would be expected to share rooms, a bed, with a man he barely knew! And the consummation! Not that such a thing would be a hardship, per say. The attraction was there, most definitely. But that didn’t mean he was ready to-!

Aziraphale buried his flushed face in his hands and groaned.

Everything was going all wrong, but he would have to wait until the morning to even begin trying to set things to rights. Gabriel would have surely retired for the night. Early to bed and early to rise, he was.

Not even attempting to sleep, he knew it would be futile, Aziraphale spent the night rearranging his books, moving his various sofas and chairs into new positions, and trying to rehearse what he planned to say to Gabriel.

It would have been easier if he knew who had made the decision to have the wedding so soon. Though even if King Lucifer had been the one to do so, surely his concerns could still be taken into consideration.

In fact, he was sure his feelings on the matter should have been accounted for. Despite his siblings' insistence on keeping him in the dark about everything concerning the running of the kingdom he still should have at least been owed his dignity. And not even being given the chance to know his soon-to-be spouse felt quite demeaning indeed.

Of course it wasn’t as if he was opposing the marriage entirely. From their short time together, it was clear to Aziraphale there was chemistry between them and even attraction, at least on his part. He just needed more time. A chance to understand Crowley better, perhaps learn how not to put his foot in his mouth quite so often. That was all.

Daylight brought with it a renewed determination. He would sit down, talk to Gabriel like the adults they were, and come up with a much more reasonable timeline.

He hoped Crowley would not be upset or put out. Perhaps he should have spoken with him first so they could present a unified front, but panic had set in and there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

Aziraphale dressed in the white and silver of their kingdom, forgoing his preferred waistcoat and bowtie for a more formal doublet. Gabriel might be his brother, but he was also the king and would expect nothing less during a personal audience. Especially an impromptu one.

The walk from his wing of the palace to Gabriel’s set his nerves alight again. Aziraphale twisted his signet ring around and around his pinky, desperate to keep from picking at his nice clothes. It would look bad if he showed up with a missing button or a frayed seam.

Aziraphale rarely came down this way anymore, as Gabriel preferred sending messengers to relay his requests or demands rather than have one-on-one meetings. Not like their father who had a more personal touch. Though even as a young boy his trips to their father's study had been far and few between; if one was sent there, it was often for a reprimand.

He stood before the massive double door, twisting his ring and double guessing himself. But he’d already come all this way, and knew if he didn’t speak up now he would forever regret it.

The knock sounded loud and hollow in the quiet hall and Aziraphale winced, hoping Gabriel was actually in.

There was a beat of silence before his brother's voice came from beyond the heavy door. “Enter.”

He opened the door cautiously, despite knowing there was nothing lurking behind it. It was just Gabriel, sitting straight backed behind his massive wooden desk. He hadn’t even looked up from the stack of papers he was going through.

The study was exactly as Aziraphale remembered it. The only difference being that Gabriel had replaced the massive portrait their father had commissioned of the late queen with a map that showed their kingdom and the ones surrounding them covered with pins of various sizes and colors. Display cases showcasing armour and weapons of bygone eras filled the rest of the space except for the wall behind the desk which housed a floor to ceiling window overlooking the city.

He barely had a moment to wonder where the portrait had gone before Gabriel interrupted the thought.

“Whatever it is, make it quick.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and steeled himself as he approached the desk. The early morning sun shone brightly through the eastern facing window behind the desk, making Aziraphale have to squint to keep from being blinded. “Brother.”

Gabriel's violet eyes glanced up at him for a split second before dropping back to his work, the scratching of his quill only faltering for a moment. “Aziraphale. This is early for you.”

It wasn’t, really. He just preferred to have morning tea and take his time getting ready. However, he smiled good naturedly. “Yes, well, I have something important to discuss.”

The sigh that followed made Aziraphale want to shrink into himself. “Spit it out then. I have work to do, you know.”

“Of course! Yes. Right. You see I, well, it has come to my attention that the wedding between Prince Crowley and I-”

“Finally taking an interest in that, are you?” Gabriel interrupted, setting his quill down and setting his full attention on Aziraphale.

Aziraphael had to fight back a wince. “That is what I wanted to discuss, actually.”

Gabriel raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows and made a motion with his hand that implied “get on with it then.” 

With a jerky nod and a quick tug at the bottom of his doublet, Aziraphale continued, “It’s too soon.”

“What.”

“It’s too soon!”

Gabriel frowned. “I heard that. What do you mean ‘too soon?’ This marriage has been in the works for months.”

“Well, I wish someone would have told me that!” Aziraphale cried out.

“You were told! Two months ago! How can you just now have a problem!?” Gabriel slammed his opened palm on the desk, making Aziraphale flinch.

“That's not-”

Gabriel shoved himself to his feet. “Are you _trying_ to undermine this alliance?!”

“No!” Aziraphale cried out again. “Of course not!”

“Then what, exactly, do you have against marrying Prince Crowley? I thought the two of you were finally getting along.”

“We are! I have nothing against marrying Crowley! But I had no idea the wedding was happening so soon! Don’t you think this is a little fast? Year long engagements are the expected custom!”

Gabriel paced behind his desk, hands folded behind his back. “Aziraphale, do you have any idea how important this is?”

He had a vague idea. It was no secret that their father had traded correspondence with King Lucifer a handful of times, though nothing had ever come of it and, eventually, it had ceased. Gabriel had reopened communication when he had taken the throne a few years before, but as far as Aziraphale was aware this was just a courtesy, politics. Certainly not something that required being so hastey.

“Well, no one has ever informed me of any particular reasons…”

Gabriel sighed impatiently and opened the drawer at the top of his desk, retrieving a fat stack of paperwork. He threw it down in front of Aziraphale and tapped a finger on it insistently. “Page 15, paragraph 4.”

Aziraphale drew closer and grabbed the stack, flipping through it to find the specific page. From the quick skim he was afforded, it seemed to be reports from various parts of Elysium detailing production and acquisition of goods dating back multiple decades. Everything from harvest yields to the production of cloth and metal. Page 15 in particular discussed the various mines and metal production facilities across the kingdom.

He read through the pointed out paragraph once, twice, three full times just to make sure he was reading what he thought he was reading.

“Gabriel, this-”

“Yes?”

“You mean to tell me we only have one iron mine left that hasn’t run dry?” He wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t come from Gabriel himself with the royal seal. “And Father knew about it and never told anyone?”

His brother looked grim. “Unfortunately. If we don’t find another source, or a new metal to use, we won’t have enough to produce anything.”

Aziraphale had never been one for warfare but even he knew that without iron they would quickly run out of weapons and armour. Not to mention that iron was used extensively in construction, the making of tools - it was essential.

“That’s… Very very bad, but I don’t see how Gehenna-”

“It’s a mountainous region, Aziraphale! And, if the information Father and I both received from King Lucifer is any good, they are drowning in iron and other metals! We need them or in the next 6 years things are going to get very bad, very quickly. Do you understand _now_ why you need to make this work?”

He did, all too clearly. His discomfort with a quick and unexpected wedding was nothing to a kingdom's needs. And as a prince it was his royal duty to put on a brave face and endure any hardship.

There was still something that didn’t sit well with him though…

“Yes, I understand, Gabriel. But, er, that’s not quite how Sandalphon phrased things a few weeks ago...”

Gabriel frowned as he took his seat once again. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you see,” Aziraphale fidgeted, twisting his hands around each other, “Sandalphon said something about possible foul play…”

“Of course he did.” Gabriel scoffed. “We’d be fools to just take them at their word after centuries of killing each other.”

Aziraphale nodded along. “Yes, of course, fools.” Something still felt wrong, off, but perhaps he was just getting too chummy with Crowley? He should trust his older siblings, they had more experience with politics and matters of state, even if he couldn’t imagine Crowley deceiving them.

“Anything else?” Gabriel asked while folding his hands on the desk and smiling his most genuine smile, which really wasn’t all that genuine at all.

“Er, no. No! I believe that was my only matter of discussion…”

“Good! That was enough of my time wasted. You are dismissed.”

Aziraphale turned and left, knowing it was unwise to overstay his tenuous welcome. He wanted to lock himself in his rooms and avoid everyone, Crowley included, until everything was over, but knew that also wouldn’t be wise.

He was going to be married, _next week_, and would have to rapidly get used to the idea.

Aziraphale slowly made his way towards the dining hall for breakfast. He wasn’t sure if he could actually eat right now, the anxiety from last night having ruined any semblance of an appetite, but he had to at least try and act normal.

Finding Crowley already seated in his usual chair and sipping something warm was a surprise. His eyebrows rose above his glasses when he noticed Aziraphale.

“Good morning, Aziraphale.”

The nickname, angel, was gone and Aziraphale suppressed a wince. As embarrassing as it was, he’d started to grow fond of it. “Good morning, Crowley. I apologize for my tardiness. I had a... few things to take care of this morning.”

Prince Crowley shrugged and seemed to focus on his drink, but Aziraphale was certain his hidden eyes were examining him.

The silence at the table was almost palpable as Aziraphale slathered the few slices of toast he thought he could stomach with jam. And no matter what Aziraphale tried, all he could get out of Crowley was non-committal _hmms_ or grunts. He knew he deserved that for running off like he had, but it hurt all the same. He would have to make it up to him, explain himself. He only hoped Crowley would be willing to listen.

He decided he needed to keep trying. They couldn’t possibly go into a marriage with hard feelings and expect positive results. Aziraphale dabbed his serviette across his mouth. “Well, my dear, did you have any plans for this morning?”

Crowley set the teacup down harder than seemed strictly necessary. “Yes, actually.”

“O-oh. Anything I might, ah, be able to assist with?” 

The scrap of Crowley’s chair across the tiled floor was grating. “No.”

Aziraphale winced. The cold rebuffing was worse than the few flares of rage he’d already witnessed. He would take the sharp claws, black scales, and gleaming fangs anyday over being shut out entirely.

He watched Crowley cross half the room in quick strides before making up his mind to follow after him. Shoving himself to his feet and scurrying down the length of the long table he rushed after Crowley, not caring if the few members of staff saw him do so.

By the time Aziraphale reached the door, Crowley was already halfway down the hall. “Crowley, wait, please!”

It was a surprise that he actually did. Coming to a sudden halt Crowley clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. “What.”

“I owe you an apology.”

Crowley didn’t turn around, but Aziraphale was sure the tension in his sharp shoulders released just a smidge. “Go on then.”

“Right, I, ah…” Aziraphale took a few steps forward. “I believe I might have… reacted badly. Last night.”

“Might have?” Crowley growled, the tension in his back rising again.

Aziraphale shook his head, more for himself than for the man who wasn’t even looking at him, and inched forward again. “No, that- that was a poor word choice. I _did_ react quite badly and I should not have run off like I did. I-”

“I can leave if marrying me is so upsetting to you, Aziraphale.”

“No!” Aziraphale gasped. “That’s not- I didn’t mean-”

Crowley turned then, rounding on him with a snarl. “Then, perhaps, you should explain _exactly_ what you mean. Because from my position that’s _exactly_ what it looks like!”

“I didn’t know, Crowley! Gabriel didn’t tell me!” Aziraphale cried out, clutched the bottom of his doublet to keep from reaching out.

“He didn’t- What?” 

Aziraphale sighed and hoped there was no one around listening in, as it was embarrassing enough to admit already. “I, well, I knew we were to be wed, of course. But no one said anything about how, ah, fast things were going to happen. It’s custom to wait at least a year before even deciding on a date! I had no idea about the, er, timeframe I was working with.” He couldn’t bear to look Crowley in the face, preferring instead to watch his own hands twist his clothes.

“How could he not tell you?” He didn’t sound mad anymore, but Aziraphale couldn’t place what he _did_ sound like and didn’t look up at him to find out.

“It’s just how he is, I suppose,” Aziraphale said with a delicate shrug. “Probably just forgot. Gabriel is quite busy with running things. It was my slip in responsibility. I should have been more diligent.”

Aziraphael was surprised to find his arms suddenly grabbed in strong claws. “That’sss ridiculoussss!” Crowley hissed. “It’sss- It was his job to tell you!”

“Yes, but I-”

“No! I won’t hear it.” His grip softened. “No wonder you ran off.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, and I’m terribly sorry.”

Crowley released him then. “Just... next time say something, would ya?”

He nodded again and chanced a glance up. The dark glasses made it difficult to tell, but Crowley looked just as concerned as he had been last night. “I realised after I returned to my rooms that I probably should not have done so. At least not like that…”

“Understatement, angel.”

The return of the nickname made warmth flood his limbs and face. “I hope you will allow me to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Crowley grumbled

“I’d like to, perhaps another ride in the woods? You seemed to enjoy the last one.”

Crowley seemed to soften and sighed. “I’d like that Unfortunately, I wasn’t just pulling your leg when I said I had plans. Your brother has me scheduled for a fitting today. I’m assuming it’s going to take twice as long as it needs to.”

That definitely made sense. The wedding was only a handful of days away and Crowley was likely getting an entire new outfit for it. “Ah, right. Another time then, perhaps? Though I assume we shall be quite busy soon.”

Crowley had noticed, even in his short time here, that Aziraphale’s siblings treated him as an outsider, as if he wasn’t even their brother. Ignored when they did not need anything from him and talked down to, as if he wasn’t intelligent enough to understand them, when they did. So Crowley avoided them as often as he could. He didn’t think he could trust himself to not say something snide.

Though not telling Aziraphale when the damned _wedding_ was happening took the cake.

He couldn’t tell if it was a ploy to sabotage things or if Gabriel really was that dense. He was leaning towards dense, though. There just didn’t seem to be anything to gain from trying to ruin their alliance. Not when the terms were mutually agreed upon and the paperwork signed. From the few interactions he couldn’t wiggle out of, he’d almost say Gabriel was delighted at the chance to foist Aziraphale off one someone far away.

And that thought was almost as grating as the idea that he was intending to make a fool of his own brother by _not telling him when the wedding was_.

The frustration, confusion, and mind numbing idiocy of the entire scenario was eating away at Crowley the entire time they took his measurements and talked around what sort of outfit he’d be expected to wear. It almost felt wrong to go through this whole song and dance with Aziraphale obviously not on board. It stung, certainly, to know that something that should have been quite joyous was likely to be the exact opposite for Aziraphale. He’d been under the incorrect assumption that they were on the same page and had agreed to the same thing.

Crowley was starting to wonder if Aziraphale had been consulted on the marriage at all or if Gabriel had just told him it was what he was going to do and left it at that.

He really didn’t like that thought.

It was that thought, though, that sent him in search of Gabriel the second all the measuring and number recording was done. He couldn’t change anything with the terms already agreed upon and signed, but Gabriel had earned a piece of his mind.

Crowley didn’t bother with knocking; he figured if Gabriel couldn’t even give Aziraphale the most basic of respect then he didn’t deserve it either. The sight of King Gabriel jumping away from the massive map on his wall when the door banged open was satisfying and Crowley could feel his own grin turning a little too sharp.

“What do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just come barging in here!”

“Oh? I can’t?” Crowley looked from Gabriel, to the threshold, back to Gabriel with his arms outstretched, and took a single step inside. “Hmm. Odd. Looks like I just did.”

Gabriel glared at him, not even attempting to put on his usual fake smile. “Prince Crowley. I would expect you to know how rude it is to disturb a king like this.”

“One would think, wouldn’t they?” Crowley asked and strolled on in, looking at the display cases and suits of armour in boredom.

The sigh that followed was one of long suffering. “I suppose today I am cursed to have interruptions. What do you want, Prince Crowley?”

What he wanted was to punch Gabriel in his insufferable face. It was a very punchable sort of face so Crowley shoved his hands into his too tight trousers to keep from giving in. “We need to talk about Aziraphale.”

Gabriel sighed again, this one less long suffering and more annoyed. “Listen, whatever he’s said about the wedding can be ignored. Everything is still scheduled to happen next week as was agreed.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. “You’re ignoring your own brother's obvious discomfort with this!”

“He’s a prince! As are you! His discomfort is secondary compared to his duty to his kingdom.”

It was a monumental effort to keep himself from lunging across the room. “And what if he doesn’t want this, hm? Are you just going to force his hand?!”

“I do not know how things work in Gehenna, but here, in Elysium, a prince knows they have no say in their marriage. Aziraphale has known this since he was a child and, frankly, if this was such a bother for you it should have been brought up before the alliance was signed.” Gabriel's eyes were hard and unfeeling as he started Crowley down.

He hadn't _known_ before agreeing and signing his name. And wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth? “I’m _aware_ it’s too little too late to change things, Gabriel. But I expect Aziraphale to be kept informed from now on. I will not tolerate omitting information and expecting Aziraphale to just grin and bear it. He needs to be involved.”

Gabriel sighed again. “Very well. I will… endeavour to inform Aziraphale of all developments for the rest of his time here.”

It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but it was the most he could do in such a short time.

Aziraphale was quickly proven correct in his assumption. The next day, bright and early, he was interrupted from his morning tea by the royal seamster and his army of assistants. Aziraphale would have preferred his usual one, but he was not exactly given the choice. The only upside was Gabriel not being present for his measurements. He could still remember the judgemental looks and snide remarks about his weight from the last time he needed “royal attire.” The suit was, of course, in Elysium's national colours - white and blue and silver. Aziraphale had always felt so much white made him look washed out, but there was no way he was going to convince them to change it.

He was also kept busy via being put in charge of overseeing the decorating. It was quite the surprise when one of Gabriel's many messengers approached him to inform him of the king's decision, but he wasn’t going to complain about finally being involved in _something_. Though, _why_ he was finally being given something to do eluded him.

Aziraphale watched from the side as white stone benches were dragged into the throne room by teams of staff. They were sturdy and heavy and really only ever used for special occasions. It felt nice to direct and coordinate something, to be useful. Even if the event in question still sent him into anxious flutters.

Apparently, it was normal to be anxious before one’s wedding, but he had the impression it was supposed to be the excited sort of anxious and not the “I barely know this man and will be expected to share a room and a bed” sort of anxious. It was something he knew he should discuss with Crowley, but the thought of sitting his fiance down and trying to express his worry and discomfort over… marital expectations seemed mortifying.

Not that they had much time to discuss anything at all. Having only a week to oversee preparations for an entire wedding was keeping him too busy to seek Crowley out for more than an hour or so at a time. It, however, didn’t keep his siblings from coming around and criticizing.

“Tell them to put their backs into it, Aziraphale. We are on a very tight schedule.”

Aziraphale quickly schooled his features into something resembling respectful as Sandalphon approached. “Brother! I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said, watching as Sandalphon examined the flower arrangements and bench placement with unreserved judgement.

“Gabriel requested I check in for him. Make sure everything is running smoothly. With your wedding three days away we have no room for mistakes.”

“Yes. I am well aware, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale said and pressed his lips tightly together. He didn’t need to be babysat like an infant. “Everything is right on schedule. The throne room should be ready by the end of today.”

Sandalphon hummed and and slowly circled him, making Aziraphale’s hair stand on end. He didn’t know what it was, but something about Sandalphon standing behind him made him incredibly uncomfortable. The discomfort abated a small amount when his brother came to a stop at his side. “Notice anything… _unusual_ about our guest?”

Aziraphale resisted tensing up. There were plenty of unusual things about Crowley - his eating habits, the dark glasses, his fangs and scales and claws. None of that was damning, though. None of that went against their laws. The small amount of healing Crowley had performed, however… It was most definitely magic. But it wasn’t anything harmful. It was _healing_, the exact opposite of harm. “I, ah, as far as I can tell he seems completely normal.”

“Is he, now?” Aziraphale could feel Sandalphon's eyes boring into him, trying to suss out any lies. It wasn’t a lie, however; indeed, there was no way for him to know if Crowley was unusual for whatever sort of creature he was. Unusual to a human, perhaps, but it was entirely possible he was incredibly normal to his own people.

“Yes. Granted, I haven’t had nearly enough time with him to notice much.”

Sandalphon did not seem placated in the slightest. “Remember where your loyalties lie, Aziraphale. I’m certain the creature will show its true colours sooner rather than later.”

Aziraphale wanted to say that Crowley was not a creature or an “it.” He was a person, just like they were. That just because he wasn’t human didn’t mean he was something to be feared or fought. Though he felt saying so out loud would not be welcomed, so Aziraphale kept his thoughts to himself and simply nodded. “Of course, brother. I shall endeavour to keep my eyes open.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might feel like nothing happens this chapter, but it was important to establish everyone's feelings going into the wedding. And! Next chapter will likely be very long to make up for it :D
> 
> Page-break art is mine! Please do not use without permission!


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